


Just for the Holidays

by moonflowers



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Christmas fic, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, I have taken liberties with workplace hierarchy, Jimmy is a vain and silly flirt, M/M, Modern AU, Sexual Content, Silly Boys, Thomas your poker face is slipping, Update tags as I go, did I mention CHRISTMAS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 26,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Christmas is just like any other time of year for Thomas Barrow, though perhaps marginally more irritating. But the young man working for The Downton Clothing Company over the holiday period may perhaps make it the most irritating and wonderful winter yet. CHRISTMAS FIC.<br/>(Note: I will be attempting to add a chapter every day through December.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’ve (stupidly) decided to write a fic that I’m going to update every day all through December. It’s partly to test myself to see if I can haul ass and write to a schedule again, but also because I wanted to do some Christmassy schmoop and try a modern AU. Wish me luck...

**Sunday December 1st**

Thomas Barrow checked his watch one last time before tucking it delicately back into his pocket.

8:58 am. 

Mr Carson would probably be just as irked at his opening the doors two minutes early as he would if it were two minutes late. Keeping his face carefully blank – though frankly after so many years working in retail carefully blank felt almost natural – the manager of menswear opened the doors of _The Downton Clothing Company,_ ready for the Christmas shoppers who would doubtless be descending as soon as he did so. The arrival of December seemed to incite a panic in most people. Mrs Patmore, who ran the cafe opposite, gave him a wave as she bustled about with her first customers of the day. Thomas sneered in reply, then turned back to the store, steeling himself for a day of difficult customers.

_The Downton Clothing Company_ had been founded by the Crawley family in the early 1900s, and had since gone from strength to strength, now being one of the most fashionable high-end stores among the British social elite. Modern yet classic, was their unofficial motto. The family still had strong ties to the company to this day; with the Lady Sybil taking a lead role in the welfare of the company’s employees, Lady Edith active in the media representation, and Lady Mary turning other society ladies green with envy at how well she wore the finished products. Not that Thomas had ever met them properly himself, of course. Though their father would often pop into the store when he was in town, and a great deal of wide smiles and handshakes and exclamations of ‘jolly good!’ were had by all. His Lordship and Mr Carson, the store manager, went way back, it seemed. Also he and Mr Bates, assistant manager of the menswear department, had served in the army together for a time. Connections to the aristocracy or otherwise, Thomas did not like Mr Bates. 

“Thomas,” someone called his name, and he turned to see Mrs Hughes, the manageress of ladieswear, hurrying towards him, “Thomas, here’s the Christmas CD,” she handed him the disk, which he eyed warily as though it might be toxic, “Could you put it on for me please? You know how much of a traditionalist Mr Carson is, and the first of December is upon us, after all.”

“Of course, Mrs Hughes,” Thomas said, sickly sweet smile in place.

“Thank you Thomas,” she said with a grateful smile. “Oh, and while I think of it, there’s the new Christmas boy starting today – “

“Ugh, not another,” Thomas grimaced, “Isn’t Alfred torture enough?” Was it too soon to take a cigarette break? Probably.

“Now now, none of that,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “Alfred’s doing perfectly well, and you know it. Now, could you please show the new boy what’s what? I haven’t the time, and he’ll be in menswear with you anyway, so it makes a great deal more sense for you to show him the ropes.”

“Can’t Bates do it? He has more patience than I do.” On paper Thomas outranked Bates – though it always seemed to be a bit of a grey area as far as the rest of the staff were concerned – and he wasn’t one to shy away from abusing his power a little.

“Mmm, and don’t I know it,” she said with a shake of her head. “No, he’s helping Anna finish the trees in the window dressing, and then he’s got a man coming in to finish a suit fitting, so he can’t be spared.”

“Wonderful,” Thomas said, though it was no such thing. “Alright, let me know when the no doubt useless lump gets here.”

“Excuse me,” a clear voice spoke just behind him, and Thomas turned to see a dangerously attractive young man smiling at him, and clutching a small stack of papers, “I’m Jimmy – James – Kent. I’m meant to be starting work here today.”

“Ah, James,” said Mrs Hughes with a kind smile and a touch on his arm, “We were just talking about you. Mr Barrow here is the manager of menswear; he’ll be taking care of you today, until you know the way around yourself.”

“Pleasure to meet you Mr Barrow,” said James, holding out his hand with a winning smile that made Thomas want to take care of him very much indeed.

“Right,” said Thomas slowly, all professionalism momentarily escaping him as he grasped James’ warm hand with his own.

“I shall leave you boys to it then,” Mrs Hughes’ soft lilting voice startled Thomas out of his lecherous thoughts, as she marched off to help a new girl with the tasteful lingerie display. “Good God girl, no thongs in the display please, I don’t want to give Mr Carson a heart attack...”

Regretfully, Thomas slowly released the new boy’s fingers from his own. “OK then James – “

“Jimmy.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I prefer Jimmy.”

“Right. Jimmy then,” Thomas sucked in a breath, trying to think with his brain rather than his cock, “let’s get you to Mr Carson to sort out your paperwork,” he nodded to the papers he was holding, “and then we can get started.”

“I look forward to it,” said Jimmy-who-preferred-James with a wink that Thomas wasn’t sure if he’d imagined or not.

“Right,” Thomas repeated, frustrated by his own uncharacteristic ineloquence. “We – “ he cleared his throat and started again, “We’ll just keep you in for an hour or so today, to outline your duties and such; make sure you know how we do things. You’ll start properly tomorrow.”

“Right you are, Mr Barrow,” the boy said with a cocky grin, and Thomas’ knees nearly gave out. Get it together Barrow, for Christ’s sake, he reprimanded himself, his is hardly the first pretty face you’ve stumbled across.

“If you’ll follow me,” Thomas said, allowing his voice to turn smooth and deep, and straightening his shoulders, “Mr Carson’s office is this way.” He started towards the back of the store, thankful that his place of employment required him to wear something as elegant and flattering as his well-cut three piece suit, as he was very aware of Jimmy’s eyes on his back as he walked. He couldn’t help but puff up a little at the attention. “Just through there,” he nodded to the manager’s door. “Come and find me when you’re done, and we – “ he swallowed, “we’ll find you something to wear.” The lad would look fucking fantastic in one of Downton’s famous three-pieces, and the thought of it wasn’t helping Thomas rein himself in.  
Jimmy gifted him another smile as he knocked on Carson’s door, and Thomas wished he could just go back to bed. He fucking hated December.


	2. December 2nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I venture dangerously close to sounding like a coffeeshop AU.  
> The next few chapters will probably be a bit shorter than this, just because of time and such.  
> Ima go have some mulled wine now, because it's December and because I can.

**Monday December 2nd**

Thomas had spent most of the morning trying and failing not to watch Jimmy’s every move. The lad was good enough at what he was doing; he was an obvious flirt, but polite enough to get away with it. In his first hour alone he had sold two pairs of cufflinks, three ties, a pair of shoes and had booked a suit fitting. That was more than Thomas usually managed in a morning. But then, it was drawing ever closer to that inevitable time of year, and wives were looking for the perfect trinkets to buy difficult husbands.  
Twenty minutes or so before he was due to take his lunch break, Thomas took hold of Jimmy’s elbow as he directed a customer to the dress shirts. 

“You’ve have a good morning, and no mistake,” he said smoothly, “about earned a break, I should think.” 

“Thank you, Mr Barrow,” said Jimmy with a grin, just about managing to not sound too proud of himself. 

“I’ll take you to the cafe across the way. Get you a coffee if you’re lucky, to celebrate your success.” He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from Jimmy, not just yet, but he did know he’d like to get to know him a little better.

Jimmy nodded his thanks, and sauntered off to help an elderly lady pick out the ideal set of handkerchiefs for her husband. Thomas’ suspicions had been confirmed – Jimmy did indeed look edible in the smart trousers and waistcoat Thomas had kitted him out with the day before; like he’d walked right out of a black-and-white romantic epic of early cinema.

*

Mrs Patmore, harbinger of joy that she was, greeted them with an eye roll and a brisk “I suppose you’ll be wanting coffee, won’t you?”

“That is generally why people visit this establishment Mrs Patmore, yes,” Thomas said with a sneer, just because he knew it would annoy her.

“Well, you’d best take that table at the back, out of my way,” she said as she bustled off, “and don’t you be distracting my girls again, Thomas Barrow.”

He stifled a laugh, and turned to see Jimmy looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“You seem to have something of a reputation.”

“That’s just Mrs Patmore for you. Now, what do you fancy to drink?”

“Black coffee, please.”

“Really?” Thomas asked. “I had you pegged as more... I don’t know, _flashy_ than that. As far as coffee’s concerned, that is.”

“Are you suggesting I’m boring, Mr Barrow?” he said with mock hurt, before shrugging with a flippant, “it’s quick and easy and wakes me up in the morning.”

“In other words, you’re lazy?” 

“I prefer the term ‘laid-back,’” he said with a grin.

“Whatever you say,” Thomas snorted and turned to the counter, which was newly decked out with garish flashing lights. Never one for subtlety, was Mrs Patmore. “Daisy!” He called to the familiar girl stacking coffee mugs amid an unnecessary amount of tinsel.

“Oh, hello Thomas,” she said with an honest smile that Thomas thought he probably didn’t deserve.

He ordered Jimmy’s black coffee, and for himself a hazelnut hot chocolate with whipped cream. Because what the hell was the point of hot chocolate without cream? 

“Quite a sweet tooth you have there, Mr Barrow,” said Jimmy as they sat at the table Mrs Patmore had allocated them.

“Does that surprise you?” It did seem to surprise most people; as though you had to be a sweet person to enjoy sweet tasting things. And Thomas was decidedly excessive when it came to optional extras with his coffee. “And call me Thomas. Mr Barrow is quite unnecessary.”

“You make Alfred call you Mr Barrow.”

“Yes, I do.”

Whatever Jimmy was about to say in reply was cut off as Daisy and another girl Thomas didn’t know brought over their drinks.

“Here’s yours, Thomas,” Daisy set down his drink, topped off with a generous amount of cream, and two sugar packets on the side. He nodded his approval.

“And this is yours...” the other girl placed Jimmy’s drink in front of him, “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Jimmy,” he said with one of his sunshine smiles.

“Ivy,” she returned with the confident smile of a girl who knows she’s pretty.

“We brought you some biscuits,” Daisy cut in, and whipped out a plate of gingerbread biscuits seemingly from nowhere, all in the shape of Christmas trees and snowmen, coated in gaudy icing.

“We didn’t order any,” said Thomas flatly, fingers clenching and longing for a smoke to go with his drink. 

“No,” Daisy said, fidgeting, “but we only started making them yesterday, and I know how you like our cakes,” Thomas distinctly heard Jimmy snigger, “and me and Mrs Patmore thought you might like to try them.”

“I made the gingerbread,” said Ivy with a proud tilt of her chin.

“It’s not hard,” snapped Daisy, and Ivy looked like a scolded spaniel.

“It’s hard enough for a beginner,” came Mrs Patmore’s shout from behind the counter, “now get back here the pair of you. And don’t go giving out free biscuits willy-nilly; we’re a business not a charity.” With one last smile, the two girls scuttled back to the counter.

“That were kind of them,” said Jimmy.

Thomas didn’t reply, just raised an eyebrow and took a vividly green Christmas tree from the top of the pile. He did love Mrs Patmore’s cakes, with an enthusiasm bordering on creepy, but Jimmy didn’t need to know that. He bit into it, as Jimmy poked at a snowman.

“They’re certainly... festive,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“You don’t like sweet things?” Thomas asked and oh shit he was treading on thin ice.

“I like sweet things well enough,” Jimmy said with a smirk, “but I’m not really one for Christmas.”

“Really?” Thomas waved an arm in a vague gesture to all the plastic trees, snowflakes and red gold glitter that graced every window of every shop in the garden centre. “Then this lot must be hard for you to stomach.”

“I said I didn’t much care for it, not that I hated it. Just a bit too false for me, I suppose. And since mum and dad went, I –” he blinked, as if suddenly realising he was saying more than he wanted to, and quickly pasted a smile back on. “Never mind all that for now. How about you?”

“What?”

“Christmas. Yes or no.”

“In general,” he began, scooping some of the cream off his hot chocolate, “I dislike it with fervour second only to Valentine’s day. But it does have some redeeming factors.” He snagged another biscuit. “The food, for example.”

“Mmm, you may have a point there.”

“There must be something you like about it, then?”

“I don’t know,” he frowned in thought, and emptied one of Thomas’ sugar packets into his coffee.

“Humour me.”

“I suppose I like it when it snows... though we don’t get that very often.” He smiled again, lips curling like smoke. “Do you like snow, Mr Barrow?”

Thomas thought he could have quite easily wiled away the whole afternoon, sitting with Jimmy in the back corner of the cafe, knees bumping under the table and air smelling of warm chocolate and cinnamon. He looked out at the people hurrying by under the masses of twinkly lights that covered the shop fronts, laden with brightly coloured carrier bags and their breath misting as they marched, Jimmy’s hand brushing his as he reached for more sugar, and thought that perhaps December wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	3. December 3rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I even choose to write from Thomas' PoV? I find Jimmy far easier to write, but too late now.  
> This one's a bit shorter, just so I have the time to do more eventful chapters justice. Hopefully.

**Tuesday December 3rd**

Thomas had a ten minute gap between two clients’ suit fittings, and was taking the opportunity to allow the veneer of his ‘work face’ to slide off for a moment. The repetition of the tasteful (in Mr Carson’s opinion) carols of the Christmas CD played on loop was giving him a headache. Also, the doorway of the fitting rooms happened to provide an excellent vantage point from which to observe Alfred and Jimmy serving behind the tills. Not that he was paying Alfred any mind. Jimmy’s ‘work face’ looked effortless; an open smile that suggested both confidence and willingness to be of service. In fact, it appeared so effortless, that Thomas would have thought it genuine if he hadn’t seen Jimmy slip into a childish scowl the moment a particularly awkward customer’s back was turned. After that, he noticed Jimmy’s smile looked a bit too perfect to be authentic.  
He was losing himself in the quick, careful movements of Jimmy’s hands as he folded and gift-wrapped a festive jumper (strangely lurid, for _Downton_ standards) when Mrs Hughes walked by, selection of ladies silk scarves slung over her arm. 

“Ah, Thomas, there you are.”

He nodded. “Mrs Hughes.”

“You couldn’t spare a moment, could you? Some poor child’s just upset one of the display tables, and we’ve cufflinks, tie pins, and all manner of things all over the floor. His mother’s in hysterics, though Anna’s trying her best to calm her down.”

Internally, he sighed, but he couldn’t very well say no. “Alright. Which display was it?”

She sagged for a moment in relief, before snapping back to her usual straight-backed posture. “The men’s ‘stocking fillers’ display. Near the door.”

“Right you are,” almost without thinking, he snuck one last glance at Jimmy, and _of course_ Mrs Hughes noticed.

“How’s he getting on?” she asked, apparently favouring the subtle route, “Mr Carson has said much on the subject.” 

“He’s getting on well enough, for someone just in it for the holidays.” _Can we keep him forever...?_

“He seems to be doing ever so well,” she continued, trace of motherly pride seeping into her voice, “he’s made almost double the sales Alfred has in the last two days.”

“I expect it’s because he’s so nice to look at,” Thomas said flippantly, before mentally slapping himself. But Mrs Hughes seemed to think nothing of it.

“Oh aye, he is that,” she said with a titter. “I admit, that is part of the reason we took him on – some of the girls persuaded us. Said he’d brighten the place up a bit.”

Well, they were certainly right about that, Thomas thought as he straightened his tie and stalked off to help Anna soothe housewives and sort dropped cufflinks back into their boxes.


	4. December 4th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah O'Brien, ladies and gentlemen :)

**Wednesday December 4th**

Thomas had received a text from an old friend that afternoon, with strict instructions regarding what he would be doing that evening after work. And since going against said friend’s wishes had never served him well in the past, he found himself waiting in the dark corner of their preferred haunt, trying not to look at his watch. God, he missed the days when smoking indoors was legal.

“Well well,” Sarah O’Brien sauntered over (twenty minutes late on purpose, no doubt) shedding her thick black coat to revel more layers of black clothing underneath, “trying to look all dark and mysterious in the corner, are we?” She sat opposite him and eyed the wine menu. “You look more like a sexual predator.”

“Happy Christmas to you too,” he said with a raised eyebrow, and placed the glass of her favourite red he’d ordered in front of her. “First round’s on me.”

“Very kind I’m sure,” she took a sip before pausing and running a critical eye over him. “Oh dear. Going through a dry spell are we?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know you. And I know you may think you’re a smooth bastard who can hide away his feelings –“

“Much like you,” he cut in.

“– but your body language is a dead giveaway. Look at you, coiled like a ruddy spring, you are. And your face is all tight and miserable.” It was a bit rich of _her_ to be saying other people looked miserable, but there we are... “You’re not getting your leg over,” she said with a smug smirk, “which usually means you’ve got your eye on someone, but you haven’t quite decided whether or not it’s safe to go in for the kill yet.”

“That’s quite a deduction.”She was quite right of course, but buggered if he’d tell her. He self-consciously tried to loosen up his posture a little as she continued to stare him down. “Playing Sherlock in your spare time now are we, Miss O’Brien?”

She totally ignored him. “Who is he then?”

He didn’t want to just roll over and answer her, but past experience dictated it was easier to get it over with quickly, rather than snip at each other for an hour or so before one of them eventually snapped and the whole thing turned into a needless falling-out. It had happened before. “Just a lad from work. No one special,” he added for good measure, though he wasn’t entirely sure that was true yet. 

“I see,” Sarah swirled the contents of her wineglass, a witch inspecting her brew if Thomas ever saw one. “And do you just want him in your bed, or is there more to it than that?”

He didn’t answer; just raised an eyebrow and curled his lip into a sneer that hopefully said ‘back off and mind your own, you nosy cow.’ In actuality, he was having a slight panic because he _didn’t know._ He had no idea what he wanted from Jimmy. Well, aside from the obvious. But after that...? He was being an idiot; he’d only met him three days ago, what else could it be but lust?

She took the hint, and they talked of other things for a while after that; of old times when they had both worked at _Downton,_ sharing a smoke out the back, thick as thieves. They neatly avoided the incident that had caused her to leave. She crowed over her present job, PA to some well-to-do lady who spent a lot of time in India. Then there was the ever-tiresome talk of what they planned to do over Christmas. Not a lot. Thomas of course asked her indelicate questions about her own love life; not because he wanted to hear the answers, but because he liked to watch her squirm too. She didn’t take the bait though, just biting out a tart, “well, at least I have one.”

Thomas was just about to give her a subtly scathing reply, when someone walking past the window caught his eye.   
Jimmy.  
He stiffened, half-planned words froze and died away on his tongue. Jimmy was walking briskly but evenly, collar turned up against the flurry of almost-snow, face red with cold and misting breath swept away in the wind. His hair seemed unnaturally gold under the streetlamps, and Thomas thought he really might have to off himself if he was going to start thinking such soppy thoughts on a regular basis. As he watched, Jimmy turned and shouted something to someone behind him, laughing easy and open. Another coated figure, potentially Alfred, though Thomas didn’t give a damn who it was really, scurried after him, and they disappeared into the night.

A low whistle from Sarah brought him back to reality – though he would rather have stayed in his thoughts with a breathless, laughing Jimmy, than be half-drunk in a dingy wine bar with his sour ex-colleague. 

“Well,” she set her third glass of red down on the table with a dull thunk, “you’re in trouble, and no mistake. I haven’t seen you make doe-eyes at someone like that since –“

“I’d rather not talk about it, thank you,” he cut her off smoothly, and tipped back the last of his wine. 

“If you say so,” she sniffed. “Are you going to do anything about it or no?”

“I don’t think so,” he said airily, wishing very much she’d put a sock in it.

“You’ve changed, Thomas Barrow,” she said, fishing in her handbag or a cigarette.

“Oh really,” he sighed, suddenly tired and uninterested in playing her game, “how so?”

“The Thomas I know wouldn’t pass up the chance for... companionship, if you take my meaning. Especially not with one so pretty as that.”

“It’s really none of your business,” he said with a falsely polite smile, “but you know what they say: don’t dip your pen in the company ink, and all that.”

She snorted, something she’d never do if she hadn’t had a drink. “Very eloquent. But not entirely convincing.”

“You said it yourself. I’ve changed.”

“Yes,” she curled her skinny fingers around the stem of her wine glass, “but I can’t help wondering, is that what you want?”


	5. December 5th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop is a bitch and I dislike it immensely. But please don't die on my now, baby.

**Thursday December 5th**

Thankfully able to hold his wine (and there had been a fair amount of it, to help him stomach Sarah O’Brien’s crude game of fifty questions) better than other types of alcohol, Thomas was hangover-free at work the next day. Though he still popped extra strong mints whenever he got the chance and avoided breathing near Carson. Despite the probing words of his ex-colleague the night before, Thomas was still no clearer on what he should do when it came to the matter of James Kent. Though he was starting to suspect that Jimmy’s thoughts were more in line with his own than he had first expected.   
They were both helping Anna hang large signs in the window, to promote the seasonal discount offers kicking off that weekend. Mr Carson had originally instructed him to get Alfred to lend a hand, due to his ridiculous wingspan, but Thomas had quickly cast that idea aside and found Jimmy instead.  
Anna was currently up a stepladder, Jimmy holding it still for her and Thomas holding the ‘Buy a box of five handkerchiefs and get them monogrammed for free’ posters, among other delights. It apparently hadn’t occurred to either of them it might be more gentlemanly for one of them to be up the ladder, but Anna seemed quite happy. That is, until – 

“Oh dear,” she said suddenly, and something small fell from her hand, “one of the hooks for hanging the posters has snapped.” She turned apologetic eyes to Jimmy, “I’m sorry, but could you be an angel and – Oh!”

She stopped short as Jimmy proudly produced a handful of the spare little hooks from his pocket, like a child showing his mother a painting he’d done at school. “I thought we might be needing some, so I grabbed a few when I fetched the ladder from the back room.”

“Oh, well done James,” said Anna, beaming at him and taking one of the hooks to screw into the ceiling. “How ever did we manage without you?”

“Well, I do like to be prepared,” he told her (though Thomas thought the question had probably been rhetorical) smiling in return.

“I bet you’re always prepared, aren’t you Jimmy?” said Thomas before he could stop himself, low enough so Anna wouldn’t hear.

Jimmy’s eyes flicked to him, smile less like sunshine and more like a serpent, slight flush creeping up his neck, “I try to be, Mr Barrow.”

It seemed like a floodgate had been opened after that – Thomas spent the afternoon with Jimmy appearing seemingly from nowhere, brushing past him with a soft “Oh, excuse me Mr Barrow,” leaning across him to pick up something inconsequential, hands bumping as they both reached to use the till at the same time. It was maddening and wonderful, and Thomas felt sixteen again.


	6. December 6th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving kudos/comments you guys, I really appreciate it :)  
> Now have some Thomas in the shower.

**Friday December 6th**

Friday began with the ever tedious task of unpacking the delivery. Mr Carson had assigned the task to Jimmy, but since Thomas wasn’t busy... well, he thought he may as well give him a hand. It was nothing to do with the fact that Jimmy would be bending over a lot during the process.  
Alright, perhaps a little. 

“Pass us that box cutter would you?” Jimmy groaned as he straightened up from the latest cardboard box, stretching out his back. 

Thomas did so, perhaps holding onto it a little longer than necessary before Jimmy took it, then going back to checking off items against the delivery notes. They worked again for a moment in a comfortable if somehow anticipatory silence, until Jimmy cut through the next box... and part of his finger.

“Ahh, bugger!” he hissed and dropped the box cutter, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at his bleeding hand.

“Shit, Jimmy, are you alright?” Thomas dropped what he was doing and rushed over, not sparing the time to be embarrassed about how quickly he’d done so. 

“I – I think so.” He was still refusing to look at his injury, but instead opened his eyes and fixed them on Thomas, deliberately sliding his index finger into his own mouth, sucking off the blood for far longer than Thomas thought was probably necessary. Not that he was complaining, mind; and he’d temporarily lost the ability to form words, anyway.

“Who’s in charge of first aid in here?” Jimmy asked when he had eventually taken his finger out of his mouth. “I suppose Mr Carson must have told me on my first day, but...” he trailed off as he scrutinised the cut. It was small, and not serious, but didn’t seem to want to stop oozing blood.

Thomas found his voice. “I am.”

Jimmy frowned at him. “You are what?”

“The resident first-aider, as it were,” he gave a small smile, and started off towards the staff room. “Come on, you’ll need a plaster for now at any rate, if only so you don’t bleed all over the shirts we’re unpacking.” He added with a wry grin, “If we damage the product, it comes out of our wages, as Carson so very much enjoys pointing out to us.”

It turned out the only plasters they had left in the first aid box were children’s ones with brightly coloured dinosaurs on them. Jimmy insisted Thomas stuck one over the cut for him. 

“So, do you do all that first aid stuff then?” he asked with a frown.

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked, trying to make the moment where he smoothed the plaster over Jimmy’s finger last forever.

“I don’t know – recovery position, popping dislocated joints back in...” a deliberate pause, “mouth to mouth.”

Thomas almost choked on his own breath.

“Thank you Mr Barrow,” Jimmy gently removed his hand from Thomas’ hold, “That’s me all set up for the afternoon. Unless you want to kiss it better for me?” He smirked and stalked off before Thomas could answer.

*

Thomas shoved his first two fingers in his mouth and pretended they were Jimmy’s. His other hand was wrapped loosely around his cock, revelling in the slickness of the warm water and the suds from his shower gel. If there was one thing Thomas refused to skimp on, it was his fancy self-hygiene products. And he enjoyed knowing he smelt fucking fantastic. He wondered what Jimmy would smell like; the warm curve of his neck like sleep and a trace of some cheap aftershave left from the day before... Not that he’d given it much thought.  
Thomas couldn’t decide what he’d best like Jimmy to call him. In moments like this, when he was standing in his shower, touching himself to imagined scenes of Jimmy on his knees, he wanted nothing more than to hear him moan, “Mr Barrow,” and trail kisses along his thighs. But another part of him (his heart, in all honesty – a thing Thomas largely ignored) would much prefer to hear Jimmy call him “Thomas.”  
The fantasy won out in the end, and Thomas came to thoughts of imaginary Jimmy sucking his cock until he couldn’t see straight. 

Afterwards, as he rinsed off the shower wall, the words Sarah O’Brien had spoken to him a few days previously played on his mind. He was mildly disgusted that he was thinking about her of all people at this moment in time, but she had had a point: 

_“Is that what you want?”_

Oh, he knew what he wanted. And he was Thomas Barrow – he would bloody well get it or die trying.


	7. December 7th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early, because I won't have a chance to post tomorrow. Though technically it's half an hour into the 7th of December for me, so on paper, we're OK. I only just typed this up and I'm tired as fuck, so I hope this makes sense.  
> Also this fic is now more worthy of it's M rating oh yesss.

**Saturday December 7th**

He only saw Jimmy once during work on Saturday, it being annoyingly hectic all day at _Downton,_ but once was all he needed to put his plan into effect. They met as they crossed paths in the fitting rooms, Jimmy once again taking care to accidentally-on-purpose brush against him. Honestly, attractive he may be, but subtle he was not. Thomas almost rolled his eyes.

“James,” he said quietly, and gently took hold of his elbow to stop him, “I wondered if you might like to go out for a drink later, to celebrate your first week with us?”

He frowned at Thomas, just for a moment, as if there might be some kind of catch. “Will the others be there?”

“I don’t know about you, but the less time I spend in Alfred’s company, the better,” he smirked, both soft and sharp. “I was thinking just you and me, if you want.”

Jimmy’s frown disappeared, and he graced Thomas with a leer to match his own. “Alright then.”

Thomas nodded. “I’ll see you this evening then.” And that was that.

*

The bar itself was inconsequential. It was the means to an end. It was a dark room with dark corners, low music, a broad drinks menu, and couples twined around each other in the shadows. It was simply a social nicety that must be acknowledged before they took the next step. Thomas didn’t remember if they said much to each other, or anything at all, while they were there. But it didn’t matter. All he remembered of it, really, was Jimmy looking at him in the dark as though he might eat him, eyes bright from the green and yellow pulsing light of the dance floor.  
They were there for about an hour, perhaps nearer two, before they were piling into a taxi headed back to Thomas’ house, a small Georgian affair on the edges on the city centre. It was more tangible than ever, what was about to happen between them, as they sat in the back of the taxi, careful inches between them on the back seat, keeping their distance for the sake of the driver. Though Thomas couldn’t deny that the anticipation was delicious. 

Thomas paid the driver, and together they walked up the front steps to his house, deliberate inches still between them. He let Jimmy in, and the moment he locked the stiff door behind them, the other man slid against him, pressing him back onto his own front door. They kissed a long time in the darkness of the hallway, slowly and with no real urgency, as though this were a thing they did every day. It was as though the clocks had stopped. Then Jimmy moved lower to mouth at Thomas’ neck, and all sense of detachment evaporated. He ran his hand down the back of Jimmy’s shirt, tugging it out of his jeans and letting his fingers fumble over the bare skin of his back, trying to find the best place to grasp and pull Jimmy as close as he could. Jimmy seemed to have the same idea, and pressed the whole length of his body against Thomas, his hands going up to run through his hair. He licked a stripe up Thomas’ throat, and on reflex Thomas rolled his hips forward into Jimmy. He pulled away from Thomas’ neck just long enough to rasp out “bedroom” in a hoarse whisper, before crushing their lips together again. 

They staggered to the bedroom with minimal ceremony, Thomas gripping Jimmy’s hand like they were lost children as they tackled the stairs with varying degrees of success. They practically fell into Thomas’ bedroom, not bothering with the lights, as the faint orange haze from the streetlamp outside was just enough for him to be able to see the outlines of Jimmy under his fingertips. Jimmy pulled Thomas onto the bed, landing on his back with a soft huff as Thomas fell down on top of him. Thomas couldn’t help the small smile he gave Jimmy as the man looked up at him from his own bedroom sheets, brushing his fingers along the back of Jimmy’s neck. But all soft thoughts were banished as Jimmy tugged him down by the shirt collar for another hard kiss with a bit too much tooth. Thomas kissed back with fervour and wondered why the bloody fuck they hadn’t done this sooner. Jimmy brought his legs up to wrap around Thomas’ waist, pulling them closer together and rocking up into him. He could feel Jimmy’s erection against his stomach through their clothes, and, unable to resist temptation, Thomas reached down between them to stroke at him. Jimmy gave a muffled shout and broke their kiss, tugging insistently at Thomas’ shirt buttons.   
Their clothes didn’t last long after that, shed quickly and unceremoniously cast aside and out of the way, so they could touch every inch of skin within reach. Thomas desperately wanted to see Jimmy’s lips stretched around his cock, swollen from kissing, but Jimmy seemed to have other ideas. 

“Got any lube?” he panted as Thomas slowly traced his fingers over his straining cock. 

Thomas almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the question, “course.” 

He dragged himself away for a moment to grab the tube from the dresser. He saw Jimmy eyeing up his reflection in the mirror on his wall, and it was probably a good thing Jimmy wasn’t sucking his cock – it wouldn’t have lasted long. Mind you, he wasn’t sure he would last long anyway; it had been a good few months since he’d shared his bed, and the way Jimmy bit his lip when Thomas touched him... He leant back over Jimmy again, kissing down his chest, curling his hand over Jimmy’s arse in question. Jimmy hissed at the press of Thomas’ fingertip against him.

“Yes,” he bucked his hips, “yes... fingers. I want your fingers. Ugh, please.” 

With a low groan, Thomas popped the cap of the lube and coated his fingers, stretching Jimmy as he bucked and gasped under him. Thomas was about to ask Jimmy if he was ready, but Jimmy got there first. He grabbed Thomas by the shoulders and, with more strength than Thomas thought he possessed, Jimmy flipped them over, so that Thomas was lying breathless on his back, Jimmy straddling his thighs. He snatched the lube from where Thomas had left it on the bed, coating Thomas’ cock. Thomas gripped the bedding hard and tried to think unsexy thoughts, because fucked if he was going to come before he’d had the chance to be inside that beautiful body. Jimmy lowered himself down onto Thomas with a wince.  
Thomas wanted to ask if he was OK, but couldn’t seem to find the air in his lungs. As soon as Jimmy gave the first tentative roll of his hips, they were lost; caught up in a rough pace, sometimes in time with each other, sometimes not, groaning and gasping and scratching at each other’s chests. 

“You know, Mr Barrow,” Jimmy panted out as he rocked against Thomas, and oh God it was his dirty little secret come true, “when I saw you there on my first day, and you looked me up and down in that way of yours, I knew I wanted your cock.”

Thomas didn’t remember a great deal after that; besides coming, hard, and the sight of Jimmy’s head tipped back in a wordless shout as he did the same.


	8. December 8th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, my stamina is so low, I literally cannot deal with going to work and being sociable all on the same weekend.  
> Just finished typing this, there may be errors galore.   
> In other news, I am not happy about the Downton CS trailer. No.

**Sunday 8th December**

Thomas woke to the sight of Jimmy still sprawled half across his chest, hair a beautiful mess, and breathing deeply. Unable to stop himself (and not wanting to) he lifted a hand to run his fingers through Jimmy’s unruly curls. He couldn’t have been as fast asleep as Thomas thought, because at the touch he woke and blinked sleepily. 

“Oh,” he yawned, and Thomas felt the stretch of his naked body against his own, “hello.”

“Morning,” he smiled and ruffled Jimmy’s hair properly, until the latter snorted in annoyance and batted him away.

“Fuck off,” he said through a smile, and Thomas was about to gather him up and pull him into a kiss, but Jimmy sat up, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Don’t suppose I could borrow your shower?” he said, running his hand over his stomach. “I’m not feeling me best.”

“Course,” he said, though he’d much rather Jimmy stayed in his bed, and indulged in the sort of lazy, Sunday morning sex that people only ever have in stories. “It’s next door,” he nodded vaguely towards it. “You want some breakfast before you get to work?” Thomas, fortunately, had the Sunday off. Jimmy, being a holiday employee and thus called in any time Mr Carson felt like something needed cleaning, did not. 

“Oh shite,” Jimmy murmured as he gathered up his clothes from the floor, seemingly unaffected by his nakedness. Thomas was not. “I’d forgotten about that. S’pose I’d better get a move on then. Make me a coffee would you? I take it bla –“

“Black,” Thomas finished. “I know.”

Jimmy flashed him a wink and a smile, and sped off to the shower faster than anyone who had drunk as much as he had last night had any business doing.

*

Twenty minutes later, Thomas was wrapped securely in his dressing gown and drinking his own coffee, picking at a slice of toast. He didn’t do big breakfasts; he was more of tea and biscuits kind of man. Jimmy stomped down the stairs, hair dripping on his shirt collar and wearing his rumpled clothes from the night before.

“Help yourself to toast,” Thomas said, trying not to look at the roughness of the slight stubble growth on Jimmy’s jaw, or think of how much he wanted to touch it.

“Thanks. Got any jam?”

“Top right.”

“Thanks,” he grabbed the jar and sat down opposite Thomas at the counter. “God, I’m tired. The last thing I want to do is faff about in that bloody shop.”

“Mm,” Thomas knew the feeling well, after roughly a decade working at _Downton._ “Try and sneak out to see Mrs Patmore in your lunch break. She’ll set you up with something or other if you look pathetic enough.”

Jimmy snorted and bit into his toast. “You don’t happen to know anything about that Ivy girl, do you? Who works with Mrs Patmore?”

“No,” said Thomas slowly, not entirely sure where Jimmy was going with this, “I only met her the other day, when I were there with you.”

“Right.” He swallowed and frowned. “Pretty girl.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Is she?”

“Is she, heck. Cracking figure, that one.”

Thomas was feeling worse about this by the second. “You’ll put me off me breakfast,” he said lightly.

Jimmy didn’t seem to notice, “Thought I might ask her out for a drink sometime. You know how girls get at Christmas – all soppy and romantic. I’m sure she’d be up for it.”

Yep, Thomas was definitely not feeling good about the direction this conversation had taken. “Fine,” he said, though he felt a little like he’d just been punched in the stomach, “whatever you say.”

Jimmy just smiled and finished his toast, licking the mess of jam and crumbs from his fingers. Two minutes ago, Thomas would have thrown himself across the table at a sight like that, and kissed the jam off Jimmy’s fingers himself. But now, he simply stared into the dregs of his coffee, feeling an unpleasant mix of disappointment, embarrassment, and a twinge of hurt that surprised him. He had no right to feel so wronged – his romances only ever took the form of one night stands and fuck-buddies, and that was how he liked it. Minimal feeling involved. The sooner they were out of his bed, the better.   
He tried to shrug off his sudden uncharacteristic attachment to Jimmy, and told himself to get on and deal with it. Realistically, he would’ve had to have broken this thing with Jimmy – whatever it was – off soon anyway, so it may as well be now. Pity though; he would have liked to have gotten a week or two more of good shagging in before it ran its course. It was just stung pride was all, and Jimmy was just like all the others. Yep. 

“Right,” Thomas actually jumped when Jimmy stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back the chair. “I should get going.” He slapped Thomas on the shoulder in a disturbingly brotherly way, and gifted him one last grin. “Wish me luck!” 

Thomas grabbed a pack of cigarettes and went back to bed.


	9. December 9th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Alfred have a moment of sorts. I love Alfred.

**Monday December 9th**

Jimmy and Thomas hadn’t spoken all day. It was strange, after having Jimmy practically purring at him for the past few days, to go suddenly to nothing at all. It was hard to say whether it was intentional or not – it certainly wasn’t on Thomas’ part; he’d been run off his feet all day with fussy customers and back to back suit fittings with people wanting to look their best at various Christmas soirees. He’d barely had time to breathe, never mind worry about what Jimmy was doing. And it was starting to piss him off that he was so put out by the whole situation. Still, if he kept his mask of indifference securely in place, the rest of him would soon follow.

Carson had had to leave early on some sort of mysterious errand, and since Mrs Hughes wasn’t in either, it fell to Thomas to lock up at the end of the day. He had just finished setting the alarms and checking the door one last time, then digging a cigarette out of his pocket, when he noticed he wasn’t alone. Alfred was standing outside _Downton_ also, arms crossed and scowl set so deep on his face it didn’t look like it could ever leave. It was a sinister contrast to the upbeat Christmas pop music blaring from the shop fronts. In all honesty, he would rather not know what was going on inside Alfred’s head, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do, so...

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Just look at him,” Alfred spat, nodding toward the cafe opposite, “thinks he’s God’s bloody gift, doesn’t he.”

Not sure what on earth the idiot was talking about, Thomas followed his line of sight. “What are you... oh.” 

He bit his tongue when he saw what Alfred was glaring at. Jimmy was leaning against the cafe counter, smiling and talking to Ivy, who was giggling and tossing her hair about like a damn pony. Daisy was aggressively mopping the floor nearby, though nobody seemed to be paying her any mind. Thomas actually felt his mouth drop open in surprise, though luckily he could paste his smooth mask back in place before anyone noticed. Not that anyone was looking at him; all eyes were on Jimmy. And so they should be, Thomas thought with a mix of fondness and venom, he’s bloody beautiful, the infuriating flirty bastard that he is.

“Never mind him, Alfred,” said Thomas through a clenched jaw, “whatever point he’s trying to make, I doubt it’s anything serious.” Though from the soppy smiles Ivy was giving Jimmy, they were just as silly as each other, and would be married with kids by next Christmas.

“What?” Alfred took half a moment away from his steadfast scowl to flicker a look of confusion his way.

Thomas didn’t reply, and they stood for a while in some strange kind of camaraderie, watching Jimmy leer and Ivy simper. Perhaps Alfred wasn’t so bad after all. Thomas took this back two minutes later, when Alfred whipped out his phone and began furiously texting.

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked. _And why do I care?_

“Texting Jimmy. I want to distract him. Y’know, put him off his stride,” Alfred said.

“...Right. You do that.” Thomas lit his cigarette and began the trudge back home. “See you tomorrow.”

Alfred barely looked up. “G’night, Mr Barrow.”

Thomas snuck one more glance at Jimmy as he was leaving. It looked very much like Ivy was typing her number into Jimmy’s phone. He was trying to be nonchalant about this, he really was – it wasn’t like he’d never been kicked out of bed after a one-nighter before. Hell, he was usually the one doing the kicking. But what on earth could he have done to make Jimmy skip merrily out of his bed and into Ivy’s so quickly? He put it down bad luck, and swung into the pub for a spur-of-the-moment drink to help him put it out of his mind. It was nothing; he’d get over it. He always did.


	10. December 10th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're into double figures! I'm impressed I've gotten this far haa. And I'm still not feeling Christmassy at all, a sentiment I'm sure Thomas would share.  
> Mrs Hughes is an absolute babe.

**Tuesday December 10th**

The hickey Jimmy had left on Thomas’ neck a few nights ago was nearly gone. Only a faint yellowish smudge was left behind, rather than the angry redness of before. Usually, he didn’t much care for love bites, but this one served as the only proof there was that his encounter with Jimmy hadn’t been imagined. If he thought about it hard enough, he fancied he could still feel it on his skin. But it was hidden under the collar of his work shirt, so it didn’t much matter either way. 

Thomas was taking an early lunch break to try and fit in some Christmas shopping; Mr Carson had puffed and dithered about it, but had let him go all the same – he wasn’t a lowly Christmas temp anymore. It wasn’t until he’d wandered aimlessly around three or four shops, waiting for something to catch his eye, that he realised he didn’t really have anyone to buy for. He didn’t have much in the way of family, and there were the people he worked with, but he didn’t know them closely enough to bother with gifts. He knew Sarah O’Brien well enough to know that she didn’t much go in for the sentimentalities of Christmas either. He was half thinking of getting Jimmy something, but that was out the window now. The thought was a depressing one, though he should have been used to it by this point. He ended up just going to Marks & Spencer and buying ridiculous, over indulgent food for himself. And wine.

On the way back to work, laden down with bags carrying at least six items with the words ‘Belgian Chocolate’ on the box, he stopped at the cafe. God knows he needed something hot and sugary, and Daisy made a mean orange mocha at Christmas.  
She handed him the paper cup, and – feeling generous – he slipped a couple of pounds in the tip jar. She gave him a smile and he was feeling marginally better about things, until he walked out of the cafe door and practically into Jimmy. 

“Oh, hello,” he said with mild surprise, and smiled before he could stop himself.

“Mr Barrow,” Jimmy replied with a stiff nod and his polite work-smile.

“I was just on my way back,” keen to prolong the first words they’d exchanged since Jimmy had left his house on Sunday morning, he said on the spur-of-the-moment, “but I could get you a coffee, if you like.”

“That’s... nice of you,” Jimmy said, tense smile growing yet more forced, “but I can buy my own coffee, thank you.”

“Alright. Jimmy, I –“ but the other man had dodged past him and into the warm, coffee-and-cream-scented air of the cafe before he could finish. He stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to catch up with what had just happened. But then he heard Ivy giggling, and it gave him the push needed to march himself back to _Downton._

*

To say that Thomas was grouchy that afternoon would be an understatement. He knew very well he was being a prick to the rest of the staff, and his contempt towards customers was only thinly veiled; his usually perfect work-mask manifesting into more of a sneer than a smile. If one more person asked him to gift wrap something...  
He noticed Mrs Hughes looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and was about to say something when Jimmy waltzed back into the cafe, shirt sleeves rolled up and cocky smile in place. Thomas was going to bark something rude and uncalled for about him being late back from his lunch break, but Mrs Hughes beat him to it. 

“Honestly James, you’re nearly twenty minutes late!” She said, fixing him with that stern look she produced sometimes that even Mr Carson had trouble meeting head on. “You can’t just neglect your duties and duck out of work whenever you fancy it.”

“I –“ he looked like he was going to argue, but bit his lip and seemed to think better of it. “Yes, Mrs Hughes.”

“And it’s hardly appropriate to be fawning all over those poor coffee shop girls at all hours of the day, is it. What if one of our customers were to see you?” She shook her head in irritation. “It’s very unprofessional. Now get on with you, before Mr Carson notices how late you are.”

He sauntered off with a scowl, leaving Mrs Hughes alone with Thomas, who was looking at her like she’d just announced she was moving to Barbados to set up a B&B on the beachfront with Mr Carson.

“Mrs Hughes, are you – “

“Are you alright Thomas, really?”

“What?”

“Forgive me for speaking so frankly, but it’s obvious to me that something’s upset you. You don’t work with someone for near on ten years without noticing a few things about them.” She gave him a sad smile, and he was about to tell her to get her nose out of his business, only it was sort of nice to have someone notice for a change, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to. “Has he said or done something that’s got to you? I know he’s silly and rash, but I don’t think he meant to cause offense, whatever it was.”

He was startled into silence for a moment, at how close to the mark her assumptions were. “Thank you, Mrs Hughes.”

“You’re as tenacious as a terrier, Thomas, and as proud as a big tom cat,” she sighed fondly and shook her head. “I’m not saying they’re necessarily bad qualities, but it means you don’t always know when to let things go.” He internally winced as he thought of the incident she was referring to; a few years back, he’d had something of a fling with one of the models for _Downton’s_ clothing range, and it had ended a bit sourly to say the least. “You’ve always been very good at hiding when you’re hurting Thomas,” she said quietly, “and I just want you to know you don’t always have to be the one to tuck your feelings neatly away. It is alright to let them out sometimes, the world won’t come to an end.”

Unable to think of anything to say following her little speech, Thomas simply nodded, and she headed back across the shop to help Anna finish dressing mannequins in tartan and tinsel.


	11. December 11th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has no relevance at all, but I don't care. Also could've done with another read through, but too late now.  
> My house smells like Christmas cake, some Christmas spirit is starting to seep into my bones... slowly.

**Wednesday December 11th**

What Mrs Hughes had said to Thomas the day before had reminded him of a friend he hadn’t seen in a long while. Well, _friend_ was perhaps an overstatement. _Acquaintance_ was perhaps more apt. Or maybe _ex-lover_ was more accurate. Thomas wasn’t sure what it was that drove him to pay a visit to him in the end; it certainly wasn’t nostalgia for their failure of a romance. He refused to believe it was loneliness.  
And so it was that after work, he ended up knocking on the door of Philip – old flame and old git. Or not too old really, but definitely a git. They’d met a few years ago, just before _Downton_ was due to launch their next big summer collection. The man had been a model for the company. He’d come in for a suit fitting and left with more than he’d bargained for; namely a questionable smudge on his trousers and Thomas’ phone number scrawled on the back of one of his business cards. They had carried on for a few months – mainly no-strings, no emotions sex, with a few dinners at fancy restaurants thrown in – before it ended messily, with a lot of snide comments and sour grapes. They had spoken a few times since, but they were far from friendly; they were too similar to get along well. As soon as Thomas had knocked on the door, he considered turning tail and leaving. But then the door swung open, to reveal a young man with red hair and a haughty expression. It was not Philip.

“Err, hello,” Thomas was thrown, he didn’t want to ask outright who the hell the boy was and look an idiot... perhaps he was some sort of staff? Philip was certainly pompous and rich enough for such things; Thomas vaguely remembered him saying he even had some kind of title. “I’m here to see Philip?”

The redhead didn’t say anything, but a look of vague annoyance crossed his face. Thomas was about to apologise for disturbing him and leave, but then a very familiar voice drifted out from the hallway.

“Charlie? Who is it darling?” Another man appeared at the door, tall and quite slim, wrapped in a satiny bathrobe. “Oh!” he said, confusion giving way to a smile. “Thomas! Do come in, it’s been absolutely ages.” He greeted Thomas as he always had done, with a quick kiss on each cheek, before stepping aside to let him in, and turning to the boy, “Charlie, be a dear and fetch us something to drink would you? We’ll be in the study.” The young man – Charlie, apparently – shot Thomas another controlled glare before stalking off to another room.

“Who on earth is that?” said Thomas before he could stop himself.

“Oh, don’t mind Charlie, he gets a little jealous sometimes. But he’s an absolute treasure, I don’t know how I’d get on without him.” Philip smiled genially again and swanned off down the holly-and-ivy strewn corridor, “Do come through.”

Thomas thought Charlie seemed an unpleasant little bugger, but he kept his observation to himself. He followed Philip into a room decked out with silk cushions and heavy velvet curtains that smelt heavily of scented candles. It didn’t look anything like a study to Thomas, but then, the fact that it contained a desk was probably enough for Philip to think it warranted the name.

“Come, sit,” said Philip as he stretched himself out on a chaise-longue, and he was such a cliché that Thomas couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he sat in the armchair opposite. “So, what brings you to my humble abode, hmm? It must be something important for you to show your face here. I know it’s not for a repeat performance, Lord knows we’ve both moved on from that fiasco. Though I must say, you are looking well,” he gave Thomas an obvious once over and a smirk. “In that case, let me guess... You want my advice about something.”

Thomas snorted, “Advice? That would be the last thing I would want from you. Well, second last.” _Right before a ‘repeat performance,'_ he thought snidely.

“Oh?” Philip raised an eyebrow, infuriating bastard that he was, “then why _are_ you here?”

Thomas found he couldn’t answer that, but was saved the trouble by the reappearance of ‘dear Charlie,’ who swept in like some sort of vengeful spirit and placed a tray bearing red wine and two glasses at Philip’s elbow. “Thank you darling,” he purred, and ran a long-fingered hand over the boy’s hip. The boy gave no sign of he’d even heard, and padded away like a cat across the floorboards. “So,” he handed Thomas a glass of wine and offered him a chocolate, “who is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thomas took both, though the dark chocolate was a little too bitter for his taste. 

“Thomas dear, I know the look on your face when you’re exasperated with a man. It’s a look you aimed at me many times during our affair, I know it intimately.”

Thomas scowled at him, irritated at himself for suddenly being so easy for everyone to read (he thought he used to be so good at maintaining a poker face, when had his mask begun to slip?) and took a long sip of wine. “I don’t want to discuss it with you.”

To his annoyance, Philip laughed and popped a chocolate in his mouth. “Fine, be difficult. But I’ll tell you what I think, whether you want to hear it or not. The Thomas I know would do one of two things: either go all out and get what he wants, or suck it up and move on. Sulking doesn’t do you any favours you know.” He waved a hand flippantly. “Yes, you’re very handsome when you’re brooding, but in the long term, all that’ll get you is ugly frown lines and an empty bed. Forget him, whoever he is, and find someone more suited. Someone just as much of an arse as you are.”

Thomas threw a gaudy cushion at him in his own way of saying thank you, knocking Philip’s wine all over the carpet, which sent them both into unstoppable, raucous laughter. For an hour or so, he was free of the confusing, infuriating, wonderful ache in the back of his mind that was James Kent.


	12. December 12th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, over 1000 hits, thanks you guys :)  
> Ummm this is an interlude of sorts. I didn't have anything in particular planned for this day, so this is what happened... yeah. But I promise you the plot actually gets moving again tomorrow.

**Thursday December 12th**

Thomas was having a dream. Or at least he assumed it was a dream, it was hard to tell if he was awake or not. It may have just been a thought. Or maybe it was a mix of the two, his waking thoughts blending smoothly into those strange, vivid dreams you get just as you’re falling asleep. Either way, he was aware it wasn’t real.  
He was lying in bed, and he guessed the streetlamp outside his bedroom window must have blown, because instead of the usual orange haze, the walls and floor were sliced through with cool blue moonlight. But the room was still dark; a mass of grey and shifting shapes that he couldn’t tell which were shadow and which were solid. He blinked and Jimmy was standing at the foot of his bed, dark and motionless, a slash of moonlight catching the side of his face and lighting his nose, an eye, the curve of his lip. Thomas wanted to reach out and pull him close, but he didn’t. Or couldn’t, he wasn’t sure. 

He blinked again and Jimmy was in his bed, sliding back the covers as he straddled Thomas, a knee each side of him. He loomed above him, naked chest smooth and pale as marble in the glow of the moon, and for a moment Thomas was confused, because his Jimmy was sunshine and smiles, gold hair and warm skin made warmer by the orange light outside. But that didn’t seem to matter so much when the pale Jimmy leant down, his fingers ghosting along Thomas’ jaw, his eyes cold but focused.   
Thomas felt weighted and slow, like he was underwater, and his limbs wouldn’t do quite what he wanted them to. Jimmy leant further still, his lips touching Thomas’ in a barely-there kiss. Though Thomas had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, he couldn’t find it in himself to push Jimmy away, when he knew this was what he wanted. Whether it was a dream, or a thought, or reality, he knew he wouldn’t be saying no anytime soon. So he kissed him in return, pressing back against Jimmy to make it clear that this was OK; this was what he wanted and he would take care of Jimmy in every way imaginable, if only he would let him. He managed to raise one of his sluggish arms to run his fingers through Jimmy’s hair, half expecting his hand to go right through him. But it didn’t, of course not, if anything it made the spectral Jimmy more tangible, more alive.   
He straightened up, and Thomas could see the heavy rise and fall of Jimmy’s chest as he sat above him, but he couldn’t feel or hear the breaths he took. Jimmy trailed his hands over his own chest, mapping himself with his fingertips, dragging across a nipple and scraping his stomach. Thomas’ eyes wandered up to Jimmy’s face. His eyes were still locked on Thomas’, unblinking, as he touched himself, mouth slightly open. Then his hands weren’t on himself anymore; they were on Thomas, and his whole body was overcome with a vague, sweeping bliss that made him want to shout, but he couldn’t find his voice. They were rolling into each other, with each other, pleasure not peaking or diminishing, but staying constant and endless. 

But then Jimmy began to grow grey and unclear, like the shadows in the corners of the room, the touch of his hands and body growing fainter, until Thomas thought they really were going to go right through him.  
Thomas blinked once more, and he was awake, staring at his bedroom ceiling in the dull morning light, and hoping to God that he wasn’t actually losing his mind over some boy he barely knew.


	13. December 13th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not bitter that The Hobbit's out today and I don't get to see it until Sunday. Nope.  
> I've wanted to write this chapter since the start. Fluffy fluff :)

**Friday December 13th**

“You’ll come with us Jimmy, won’t you?”

“I don’t know, Ivy –“

“Oh come on, it’s only the cinema.”

“But – But I don’t really remember what happened in the first one.”

“That’s no problem, I can catch you up. See, it all starts with this hobbit, and –“

“Alright Alfred, no need for that. I’ll come.”

“Lovely! Me and Daisy were hoping you’d say yes, weren’t we?”

“Were we?”

“So you’ve already booked the tickets then?”

“Are you joking? I’ve had them booked since last week. I – “

“Shush, Alfred. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear all that now.”

“I were only –“

“So we’ll meet you at 7.30? Outside the cinema?”

“Alright –“

“WILL YOU BOYS STOP HARRASSING MY GIRLS WHILE THEY’RE TRYING TO WORK THIS IS NOT A SPEED DATING SESSION FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” 

*

The conversation Thomas had been an unwilling witness to that morning was far from sparkling. So when Mr Carson had said he needed someone to go across town to finalise the details of the staff Christmas party at a hotel, he’d jumped at the chance to escape. If he had to listen to Alfred wax lyrical about dwarves (something he could clearly never relate to) and watch as Jimmy yawned and rolled his eyes for a moment longer, he may have had to purposely jam his hand shut in the till drawer to earn himself a ticket to A and E and away from them all. 

Now, with the tedious party details set in stone (Red or white? Which tablecloths? Band in the left corner or right?) Thomas was in a taxi back home. Fucked if he was taking public transport all the way across town in the pouring rain. He was five minutes or so from home when he noticed someone trudging along the pavement, with no umbrella or coat, and getting absolutely soaked. What a miserable sight they made, poor bugger. As the taxi pulled nearer, Thomas’ stomach flipped as he realised it was Jimmy. _Of course it was._ He was so irritated with himself for having such a physical reaction to the mere sight of him, he nearly drove on. But the strange, haunting vision he’d had the night before wouldn’t leave his mind, and – mentally kicking himself – he asked the driver to pull over.

“Jimmy,” he rolled down the window to call out, “Jimmy, what the bloody hell are you doing?”

Jimmy turned in surprise, quickly arranging his face into a glare when he saw it was Thomas. “What does it look like I’m doing? Walking home.”

“Stupid question, alright. I meant, why are you walking when it’s pissing it down?”

“I paid Alfred back for a cinema ticket earlier. Didn’t realise it was the last of my change until it were too late.”

“Well, can – can I give you a lift home?”

Jimmy curled his lip in an ugly sort of frown. “I can manage on me own, thank you.”

Suddenly Thomas was cross with him; he was just trying to do something decent, and Jimmy had to be a prick and throw it back in his face. “Would you stop being such a big girl’s blouse about it and get in the bloody car?”

Jimmy just blinked at him for a long moment, before eventually slumping in defeat. “Fine,” he said, yanking open the taxi door, “budge up.” He climbed in and sat as far away from Thomas as he possibly could, sulking and dripping rain water on the upholstery. Thomas was forcibly reminded of the last time they’d shared the backseat of a car, and how very different the distance between them had felt then. 

“Where do you live?” Thomas asked.

“What?” Jimmy snapped, turning to look at him.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I’m not stalking you, you nutter, I just need to tell the cabbie where to go.”

“Oh, right.”

When they reached Jimmy’s home, a modest but not awful block of flats, Thomas insisted on making sure Jimmy got in OK, and sent the taxi on. Truth was, Jimmy was looking a bit pale. And he couldn’t have been feeling too fantastic either, or he’d have put up more of a fight when Thomas offered to walk him to his door.

“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re all sorted, understand?” said Thomas in his best ‘I am your superior’ voice. “Now, get out of those wet clothes, and – and get in the shower. You know, warm up a bit.”

Jimmy stared at him for a moment, dripping on the doormat, before giving a huffy sort of shrug and stomping off to another room.  
This left Thomas alone in the kitchen/living area of Jimmy’s flat, slightly damp and not really sure what to do with himself. If it was he who’d been caught in the rain, he would have warmed up with a stiff drink and a cigarette, but – as he was well aware – he and Jimmy were very different people. Instead, his eyes wandered to the kitchen cupboards. Perhaps he’d like something to eat... Slightly flustered, Thomas began to pull open cupboards at random, looking for something appropriate that he could fix up. However, one of the first cupboards he pulled open did not contain food. It was stuffed full of DVDs and what looked like magazines, which on closer inspection turned out to be play programmes; everything from Shakespeare to _Equus._ The DVDs were equally surprising – mainly musicals, both classic and recent. Thomas felt his eyebrows lift in surprise, before he let out a snort of laughter and shut the cupboard door. So Jimmy was a flaming theatre queen... Who knew.  
Eventually, he located a tin of tomato soup, and dumped the contents in a pan to heat.

He’d just turned out the hob when Jimmy stumbled back into the kitchen, wrapped firmly in a red blanket, and as far as Thomas could tell, wearing only his boxers. He looked shivery and pretty out of it, and Thomas hurriedly squashed down the part of him that wanted to drag Jimmy into a bear hug and not let go. 

“Oh,” he stopped short when he saw Thomas still in his kitchen, lurking by the hob looking guilty, “fuck, I thought you’d gone.”

“I –“ Thomas cleared his throat, “I made you some soup. Thought it might warm you up a bit.”

“Right,” Jimmy sounded more confused than creeped out, which probably worked in Thomas’ favour at that point, “thanks.”

“That’s alright,” he said, and for the sake of keeping the conversation going, added, “Aren’t you meant to be going to the cinema later?”

Jimmy actually cracked a smile at that, looking up from under his damp hair, “fuck that shit, I’m going to bed. I don’t really go in for that sort of film anyway – the blokes are too bloody hairy for my liking.”

Thomas smiled in relief – he wasn’t sure if it was because Jimmy was feeling poorly or no, but having him relax around him again, however briefly, was worth it all the same. Not wanting to push his luck, he shrugged his coat back on and turned to the door. “See you tomorrow, Jimmy.”


	14. December 14th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's quite little.  
> Buuut I am starting to feel Christmassy - today I wrapped presents and made christmas flapjack, which I then nearly burnt because I was watching the first episode of Downton with Jimmy in, and I got distracted by his happy little face and thoughts of naughty Lady Anstruther. Jimmy fucking Kent.

**Saturday December 14th**

“May I come in, Mr Carson?”

Thomas knocked smartly on the door of the manager’s office, not bothering to wait for a reply before walking in.

“Yes, yes, come in,” Carson muttered, too distracted by the various papers littering his desk to notice that he already had.

“I just wanted to remind you,” Thomas began, carefully polite, “that I’ll be leaving early tomorrow afternoon.”

“What?” Ah, that had got Carson’s full attention, “May I ask why?”

Thomas barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “I have a doctor’s appointment. I believe I informed you last week. And as it’s a Sunday, we shouldn’t be too busy...”

“Yes, I remember,” said Carson impatiently, in a way that made it sound like it was somehow rude of Thomas to require healthcare. It was only a routine check-up, but Carson didn’t need to know the ins and outs of his medical record, thank you very much. “Very well, I don’t suppose there’s much I can do about it now,” he said, waving an impatient hand. Then his attention shifted to something behind Thomas, to the doorway of his office. “James? What is it?”

“I wondered if I might have a word, Mr Carson.” God, he sounded _awful._ “I’m not feeling too well, you see...” Thomas turned to look as Jimmy stepped into the light of the office, revealing that he did in fact look just as bad as he sounded. He was pale and shaky, somewhat stooped, with shadows under his eyes.

“I suppose I can – “

“My God Jimmy,” Thomas cut right across Mr Carson, much to the manager’s indignation, “you look bloody awful.”

“Why thank you, Mr Barrow,” Jimmy said with a glare that was only half-serious.

“I really think you should go ho home,” Thomas’ concern made him say. He knew Jimmy’s walking home in the rain would end badly, the idiot. _My idiot... No._ He stopped that train of thought before it got any further. 

_“Thank you,_ Mr Barrow,” Carson said deliberately, clearly irritated at being so undermined in his own territory, “but I believe it is me James must ask for permission to leave. That said, I have to agree with you,” the manager grimaced as though the very thought pained him, “take the rest of the day off. I’m sure the rest of us can soldier on without you.”

“Thank you, Mr Carson,” said Jimmy with a nod and a poor attempt at a smile. “Mr Barrow.”

He pulled the office door shut behind him as he left, and of all the things Thomas could have been thinking, the only thing that surfaced clearly was _I wonder if he ate the soup?_


	15. December 15th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a stupid and unnecessary doctors appointment tomorrow and I'm pissed off about it, so I'm making Thomas have one too.  
> This may not be quite up to scratch, but I can't bring myself to be too bothered, because I've just seen Desolation of Smaug and I'm too busy writhing around in feels.

**Sunday December 15th**

Thomas hated going to the doctors. Or the dentist, optician, hairdresser… anyone whose job it was to invade his personal space, really. Still it was necessary, he supposed, and nice to know he had a clean bill of health for the time being. He shrugged his coat back on and headed outside through the automatic doors. Fuck, it was bloody cold... he almost wished for the stuffy warmth of the bus. He was trudging across the bleak car park when he noticed someone leaning against the parking meter, eyes trained on him. His stride faltered. Interesting...  
 _Who’s the stalker now, Jimmy Kent?_

“Hello,” Thomas made a concentrated effort to keep his voice even, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Jimmy didn’t answer but instead cocked him a smile, the slight tightness of it suggesting he wasn’t quite as comfortable as he wished to appear.

“Aren’t you meant to be at work?” Thomas fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette before remembering he’d run out.

“Mmm,” Jimmy hummed in agreement as he straightened up from where he was leaning against the ticket machine. “I was, but I told Carson I still wasn’t feeling well and he let me duck out early.”

“Oh?” Thomas sidled a little closer, still careful to keep a respectful distance between them, in case Jimmy bolted, “and how are you feeling?” It sounded lame and petty, but what else was he meant to say?

“Much better, thank you,” he levelled Thomas with a smirk of his own, though his voice had a slight tremor he couldn’t quite conceal, “but isn’t it you who’s just been to the doctors?”

“Oh, it were nothing important.” Did Jimmy actually care, or was this just another way to pass the time? “Just routine.”

“That’s hardly the point though, is it,” Jimmy said matter-of-factly as he stepped forward and pressed his hand briefly against Thomas’ chest, “there.”

“What…?” Thomas looked down at the front of his coat, which was now boasting a crappy children’s sticker with a unicorn on it. “What the bloody hell is that?” His fingers were itching to peel the damn thing off already.

“It’s a sticker,” said Jimmy, as though it were the most logical thing in the world to go up to a work colleague you barely knew, but had fucked once in a moment of poor judgement, and slap a sticker with a mythical being on it across their chest. He added quietly, “It’s what good boys get for behaving at the doctors.”

Thomas was momentarily stunned by the blatant innuendo of Jimmy’s words, because where the fuck had that come from? You couldn’t just waltz merrily out of someone’s house after a night of frankly amazing sex chatting about how you plan to woo someone else, ignore/be downright rude to them for nearly a week, then prance about giving them bloody unicorn stickers. But apparently, that was exactly what Jimmy Kent was doing, and fucked if he was going to turn down the chance to get to know the beautiful, if insecure and apparently slightly mental, flirt of a man standing in front of him on a misty Sunday afternoon in a goddamn car park. “If you say so.” 

“Good,” Jimmy said with a nod, then hesitated, mouth working as if to say something more but the words were stuck in his throat. “And,” he swallowed, and Thomas’ eyes followed the bob of his throat, “and they get these too.” He darted forwards, and kissed Thomas on the cheek. It was an awkward angle, and Jimmy’s lips were chapped, and he was gone again before Thomas had even realised what was happening, but… He looked over to Jimmy, who had been quick to put a good few feet of space between them again as quickly as possible, and was now staring fixedly at the floor, lower lip between his teeth and blotchy flush creeping up his neck. Thomas laughed, a single loud bark of incredulity, and Jimmy tensed, as though he was about to flee.

“Sorry,” Thomas said quickly before Jimmy could get the wrong idea, “It’s just… Can I walk you home?”


	16. December 16th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALFWAY THROUGH!!!  
> The last few days haven't been as good as I'd have liked, sorry. I've just been busy, and I suck at multi-tasking.  
> Hopefully the next few will be better, and potentially full of Christmas fluff :)

**Monday December 16th**

“Thomas,” and apparently Jimmy was back to calling him ‘Thomas’ again now, rather than sticking with that ‘Mr Barrow’ nonsense he’d started after his awkward exit from Thomas’ house the week before, “Thomas, can I ask you something?” he sidled up to where Thomas had just finished serving someone at the till, looking sort of tense, like a wary animal – nervous but determined.

“Of course, Jimmy,” he said smoothly, though he knew it could just as easily be something sour as something sweet; there was no knowing with the damn boy, “What is it?”

“I were just wondering,” he cleared his throat and frowned, and if Thomas hadn’t been so concerned over what words were about to come out of his mouth, he may have found it endearing, “since I missed going to the cinema with that lot the other day, if maybe you’d come with me. Only if you wanted to, that is,” he added quickly, “it don’t matter either way, to me.”

Thomas raised his eyebrow, taking a moment to weigh up and pick apart what Jimmy had just asked of him – something he hadn’t been doing enough of, lately. It wasn’t like him, to let a pretty face make him cast aside any sense of self-preservation. Once upon a time, he’d been more sensible. But then there was Jimmy, with his strange up-and-down attitude to just about everything, and it made Thomas question himself. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.  
He knew Jimmy hadn’t been bothered about seeing the bloody film in the first place, if his unenthusiastic response to Ivy’s invitation was anything to go by. So... why had he asked Thomas? Probably – _hopefully,_ Thomas amended – for the very same reason that Thomas said yes, even though he didn’t particularly want to see it either.

“Alright.”

*

On reflection, Thomas thought that evening was probably the closest thing he’d ever had to the average person’s expectation of a date. He’d had guilt-ridden meetings with other boys in his later years of school. They certainly didn’t qualify. Most of his encounters since then had begun with alcohol and a meaningful smile, ended with sex and a hangover, and had had no romance whatsoever in the middle. Of course, Philip had taken him out to over-priced and pretentious restaurants once or twice during their affair, but since both of them knew that they were each in it for the sex, there was little to no emotion involved, unless you counted arousal and irritation.

But this... This was like a date from a soppy rom-com, the type Thomas avoided like the plague. He caught himself smiling several times during that evening for no reason at all, and had to give himself a mental slap to keep himself from getting his hopes up.  
They went to the cinema, and they bought unnecessary and mostly unwanted popcorn. They sat next to each other in the faded red seats, and Jimmy leant ever so slightly into Thomas’ space – he felt the presence of the armrest between them as though it were another person. Thomas’ eyes kept flicking to Jimmy’s face as it caught flashes of light from the screen, white flare over an eye or a cheekbone. They barely spoke; of course the film made it difficult, with all the shouting and sword-wielding. But even after that, as they walked the scenic route to the train station in the chill stillness of evening, they didn’t say anything much to each other, trading nonsense and trivialities, little unseen smiles and half-on-purpose bumping of shoulders. But it was how Thomas _felt,_ that made this different to any other encounter he’d had before. There was anticipation, and tension between them, but of a pleasant sort – at least for Thomas. He couldn’t speak for Jimmy. And they’d already slept together, so it wasn’t that. It was something else entirely, and the thought of it made his head spin and his hands reach for his cigarettes.


	17. December 17th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short-ish one, and I feel like it's a bit of a filler chapter more than anything else, but I hope it doesn't read too much like it. My editing is a bit dodgy, Harry Potter's on TV :)

**Tuesday December 17th**

Thomas spent most of Tuesday in a state of perpetual ‘what the fuck.’ 

Ever since Jimmy had breezed in ten minutes late for his shift that morning, he’d been all over Thomas like a rash. But it somehow seemed to escape the notice of everyone else, which Thomas wasn’t sure if he was frustrated by or grateful for. Around the rest of the staff, Jimmy was being more subtle than Thomas would ever have thought the silly flirt capable of; though he didn’t care to think much on why that may be. Unfortunately, this subtlety didn’t seem to rub off on him – by the end of the day, Mrs Hughes had asked him at least four times if he was alright.  
It began more or less as soon as Jimmy had walked in through the shop door, quickly shooing Alfred away from till one and onto till two, taking the most prominent position himself. Thomas had rolled his eyes fondly at his childishness, and strolled over to say good morning. 

“Morning, boys, he said as he approached, including Alfred as well for appearances sake. 

“Morning, Mr Barrow,” Alfred replied glumly, eyeing Jimmy with distaste as he started up the second till. 

“Oh, you’ve got something on your shoulder there, Mr Barrow,” said Jimmy in a tone of total seriousness, brushing his hand over Thomas’ jacket to remove some imaginary mark or bit of fluff. “There,” he gave his shoulder a light squeeze before removing his hand, “that’s got it.” 

Thomas didn’t know exactly what he’d done to earn Jimmy’s inappropriate workplace flirting again, but he was hardly going to turn it down. He was also well aware it would probably all end in tears (again) but he just couldn’t bring himself to see sense where Jimmy was concerned. He was blinded by him.  
As a result, he spent the next few hours running his eyes over Jimmy as he worked the till and stacked boxes, lingering on the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, or on the seam of his trousers, when he reached up to the higher shelves.

It seemed he couldn’t escape Jimmy’s presence; any time that wasn’t spent ogling him was spent in brief, whispered, and innuendo-filled conversation. Jimmy, it seemed, was a terrible flirt in more ways than one – he was both terribly persistent, and terribly cliché. Some of it was downright cringey. 

“Never mind Mrs Patmore’s biscuits, you look very tasty yourself today, Thomas.”

Yeah... That one was particularly bad. Thank God Jimmy was pretty. 

Later that afternoon, Thomas was refolding shirts in the fitting rooms when he happened to look up at one of the needlessly elaborate mirrors lining the walls. Behind him, in the mirror’s reflection, he could see the back of a bored-looking man, sighing to himself as Jimmy took his suit measurements. 

“Nearly done now, Mr Blake,” Jimmy said in his falsely pleasant work-voice, flashing the customer a false smile to match. Then his eye met Thomas’ in the mirror, and his expression slid abruptly into something completely different – smooth and smug, and ever so inviting. “Just your inseam left now,” he said quietly, and, never breaking eye contact with Thomas’ reflection, Jimmy slowly lowered himself down until he was kneeling before the customer, tape measure curled loosely in his fingers. 

“Alright,” the man said impatiently, checking his watch, “but do you think you could hurry it up? I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

“As you say, sir,” said Jimmy with a slight bow of his head, before smirking slightly and tilting his chin up at Thomas in some sort of challenge. What it was, Thomas wasn’t sure. But either way, the spell was broken, and he walked back on to the shop floor as quickly as he could manage without raising suspicion.


	18. December 18th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so mean to Ivy. I don't mean to be; as much as she annoys me, I really appreciate that she tells Jimmy to piss off when he tries to take advantage of her. You go girl.  
> Eugh, I don't want to go to work, I want to sit here and eat marzipan all day.  
> Thanks for your continued comments etc you guys, it really helps :)

**Wednesday December 18th**

Thomas was lost in some vague fantasy about ravishing Jimmy in the fitting rooms, when the very man whose trousers Thomas was imagining he had his hands in interrupted him.

“Thomas?”

“Hmm?” Thomas blinked, coming back to himself and the over-tinselled interior of the _Downton Clothing Company._ Though he sincerely wished he hadn’t; in his head, the man looking at him now like he was an idiot was worshipping his body, and it was not accompanied by a tinny version of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas.’ Thomas disliked many things about Christmas, but holiday themed pop music ranked somewhere in the top five, at least. “What is it?”

“It’s nearly lunchtime.”

“…Yes.”

“Oh,” Jimmy looked a little flustered, and Thomas couldn’t help but be glad it wasn’t just him that was getting worked up about this entire situation. “Right. Well, I were wondering if you wanted to go and get a coffee. With me, that is. I mean, because we’re friends and stuff, and I thought it might be nice. If you want…” he shot a nervous glance in Alfred’s direction, and Thomas thought he could maybe guess why Jimmy was being so twitchy. 

“Of course, James,” Thomas smoothly cut through the tail end of Jimmy’s ramblings to save him the trouble, “you go and find us a table. I’m sure Alfred can make do by himself for half an hour, can’t you Alfred?” He smiled, sweet and sly, fixing the poor man with a pointed look he couldn’t say no to. What? Thomas was his superior, why shouldn’t Alfred be reminded of it?

“Yes, Mr Barrow,” he replied, mouth pulled firmly down at the edges, and he looked so put out that Thomas almost felt bad. Almost.

“Good man,” he said, and stalked off to get his coat. 

He caught up with Jimmy a few minutes later in the coffee shop across the way. He was bundled up – in a way that made Thomas want to ruffle his hair and fuss over him like he was a kitten for God’s sake – in a thick scarf. Which probably wouldn’t be staying on long; Thomas himself was already uncomfortably hot in the warm coffee-chocolate-ginger air of the café. He shrugged off his coat as he sat opposite Jimmy, at the same pokey table Mrs Patmore had so kindly directed them to last time.

“Hello,” Jimmy grinned and grasped the mug in front of him, “I ordered for you,” he nodded to the cup in front of Thomas and bit his lip, “I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course,” said Thomas, trying desperately not to show just how much it pleased him, “what did you get me?”

“Guess,” he said with a smile that was half playful, half challenge.

“Alright,” Thomas took a sip, though it was still hot enough to burn. It was coffee, very sweet – bless him for remembering – and vaguely… nutty? “Well, coffee, obviously,” he murmured, mostly to himself, though he was aware of Jimmy watching his mouth, “and very sweet, so maybe a shot of toffee or caramel. And… I don’t know, some kind of nut?”

“Right you are,” Jimmy nodded. “Toffee-nut latte. I just,” he bowed his head in a funny little shrug, “I remembered how you said you preferred your drinks sweet and I thought you might like it.”

“You thought right,” Thomas said, and fancied he could feel his heart swelling with pleasure in his chest. Or he would have, if he believed in such soppy notions.

The next twenty minutes or so were spent in comfortable chat, more comfortable than Thomas ever would have expected after Jimmy’s abrupt and still unexplained exit from his house after their night together. They discussed Alfred’s shortcomings, the lateness of a cufflink delivery they were expecting, an unexpected and mutual dislike for mince pies, and a less surprising mutual hatred for carol singers. For Thomas, it became a sort of challenge; to see how many times he could make Jimmy smile while they were there. Though, oddly, he found Jimmy’s frown just as endearing. At some point, his hand wandered onto Jimmy’s knee under the table, and Jimmy let him keep it there.

“Hello you two,” Ivy swanned over with a smile and a plate of fruit cake, and Thomas felt Jimmy quickly sweep his hand away from his leg. “I thought you might like some cake.”

“Is it free?” Jimmy asked, flashing her that disarming and slightly plastic smile he reserved for particularly difficult customers. But of course, Ivy didn’t know that – she didn’t know him at all, Thomas thought vindictively – and grinned right back.

“Cheeky,” she said, and Thomas scowled at her, though she was too busy looking at Jimmy to notice, “think of it as a present, from me.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, tight smile not faltering, “now if you don’t mind, we were sort of in the middle of something, so…” he trailed off expectantly. Fortunately, Ivy took the hint.

“Right. I’ll… leave you to it then.” She gave Jimmy one last, slightly hopeful smile, and scuttled back behind the counter, to help Daisy with the lunchtime rush.

A few minutes and a slice of, frankly fantastic, cake later, they were heading back to work to let Alfred take his lunch break. It was Christmas, after all, Jimmy reasoned with a snort of laughter. And it was the little things like that; the easy laughter, the permission (though brief) to touch him again, their similarities, that Jimmy ordered him a drink to his exact taste… Thomas, perhaps foolishly, allowed himself to hope that something good could come of this. Well, it wasn’t against the law to hope, was it?


	19. December 19th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the fuckton of fluff that is chapter 19.  
> Also, I'm going away Friday - Sunday and won't be able to post daily, so there's a chance the next three chapters could be posted today, if I have the time to write them....

**Thursday December 19th**

“Are you fucking joking?” Thomas stared at Jimmy in disbelief.

“No,” Jimmy said, meeting his stare evenly, “why would I be?”

“Well, I’m not bloody doing it, OK.” Thomas sat down firmly on a bench, “you can go make a fool of yourself, and I’ll stay right here, thank you.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes, “Don’t be so bloody grumpy all the time. Just give it try. Here,” he held out a gloved hand to Thomas. “Come on.”

It was Jimmy offering Thomas his hand that made him give in, in the end. Despite how comfortable they were starting to be in each other’s company, and the hand-on-knee incident of the day before, they were still wary of touching each other. Thomas because he was afraid to frighten Jimmy off again, and… well, he preferred not to think on Jimmy’s reasoning. As it was, Jimmy offering bodily contact so freely wasn’t something he could just ignore.

“Fine,” he said, and it was worth it for the triumphant smile Jimmy blessed him with, the cocky little shit. “Let’s get this over with,” he took Jimmy’s hand before he could withdraw it, and allowed himself to be tugged over to the outdoor ice skating rink.

*

An hour later, and Thomas was cold and irritable, his pride almost as bruised as his arse. Apparently he was terrible at ice skating. The only redeeming factor of this discovery, was that Jimmy turned out to be even worse. Though Thomas had flailed and fallen a few times, he had gradually improved as he kept at it. Jimmy just seemed to get worse. But the upshot of this was that he’d had to periodically grab hold of Thomas to stop himself falling. Thomas had enjoyed it more than he probably should have.  
They hobbled off the ice and back to the relative safety of one of the benches overlooking the rink. Thomas was about to tell Jimmy that he was never going to go along with anything he suggested ever again, but the words were erased from his mind as Jimmy quickly pressed his lips to Thomas’ in a cold and clumsy kiss.

“Thank you,” Jimmy said with a deep breath when he pulled away, though they were still close and his hand was grasping the sleeve of Thomas’ coat.

“I – what for?” Thomas felt like he should be the one thanking Jimmy. 

“I don’t know,” said Jimmy with a huff of slightly nervous laughter, his breath clouding and drifting away. “For humouring me, I suppose. Not many people bother with that. And for not letting me fall as often as I would have. And…” he looked uncomfortable, “for not… rushing me.”

Thomas blinked, not sure what to say to the closest they’d come to discussing the whatever-it-was between them. “My pleasure,” he said truthfully, taking a risk and twining his fingers with Jimmy’s. He stilled for a moment, but didn’t pull away.

They sat in silence for a while, looking out over the ice lit by thousands of little yellow fairy lights, as people glided over its surface with more grace than either of them could hope to achieve. The air smelt cold; clean and clear, and warmed a little with traces of hot crepes and mulled wine. There were children laughing and calling, and a large group of people in period costume turning smooth figure of eights in the centre of the ice.   
Thomas was thankful he did not inhabit another time period. One where he would be shunned just for sitting as they were right now, Jimmy’s head on his shoulder and their hands loosely attached. Imprisoned for the shy kiss Jimmy had given him. It seemed such an injustice, that anyone should have to live that way. But he said nothing; just pressed a kiss to the back of Jimmy’s gloved hand, and smiled at the stars.


	20. December 20th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so here's the first of the three chapters to be posted early. It's pretty short and silly

**Friday December 20th**

Thomas and Jimmy had somehow managed to take their lunch break at the same time again, and were spending the time wandering through a few of the shops close to _Downton,_ all packed full of people desperate to make that last minute purchase. Thomas was doubly glad he didn’t have many people in his life, if it meant he could avoid all that compulsory Christmas gift nonsense. 

“How bloody awful,” he heard Jimmy mutter to his left.

“What is it?”

“I dare you to wear these,” Jimmy said with a smirk, holding up a pair of ridiculous red reindeer antlers.

Thomas simply raised an eyebrow in the most superior look he could manage. “Not in a million years.”

“Oh come on, I will if you do.”

“I thought you didn’t much care for Christmas, you filthy hypocrite.”

“What did I say about being grumpy?” said Jimmy as he jammed ludicrous headgear on Thomas head, before whipping out a pair for himself too. It was to Thomas’ credit that he didn’t give Jimmy a slap. Before he could say anything though, Jimmy had pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of them both. Wonderful. 

“Was that really necessary?” said Thomas dryly, gingerly removing the hideous antlers from his head and setting them down in disgust.

“Yes,” said Jimmy, removing his own antlers and looking at the photo on his phone. “Wow. It wouldn’t kill you to smile once in a while you know.”

“Delete it. Now.”

“No!” Jimmy clutched his phone to his chest, as though Thomas might snatch it from him. “It’s going on Facebook.”

Thomas rolled his eyes in exasperation and trudged on to the next gaudy shop. He knew full well Jimmy would never put such a foolish picture of himself on the internet; he was too vain for that. But that meant he’d taken the photo for his own eyes only, which was so adorable that Thomas managed to stay in a good mood all afternoon, even when Mr Carson charged him with completing the final stocktake before Christmas all by himself.


	21. December 21st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome. Best fandom ever :)  
> Aaaand here is the second early chapter, which hopefully isn't too riddled with errors, because I've only just finished typing and I'm trying to watch the Star Trek movie.

**Saturday December 21st**

Thomas was at home, watching something inane on TV and chain smoking, working his way steadily through a tin of fancy biscuits. What? Some people went carolling or did charity work at Christmas, this was what he did – eat overpriced baked goods and watch repeats of festive cooking shows. (Nigella Lawson was his favourite, if you must know.)   
He was feeling fairly content, in comparison to his usual state of mind. Jimmy had been talkative and cheerful at work today, which seemed to make his own day ten times better, even if he’d had the customer from hell in the form of an elderly lady wanting to purchase matching socks, ties and handkerchiefs for every male family member she had. It took over half an hour to sort something she was happy with. But even though he enjoyed his time with Jimmy and was grateful for it, he couldn’t help but crave something more physical. He was only human. And besides, he knew well enough what he was missing out on, after the frankly fantastic night they’d had together before. It haunted him. But the last thing he wanted was to push Jimmy too fast and scare him away, especially after Jimmy specifically thanking him a few days before for going slow.   
A vigorous knock at the front door made him swear and drop a half-eaten biscuit on the coffee table. Grumbling to himself, he went to the door, ready to give whoever it was disturbing his evening a bollocking. But his rant died an early death when he swung open the front door to reveal Jimmy standing sheepishly on the step.  
 _Of course it was Jimmy._

“Jimmy… what are you – “

“Thomas. Can I come in?” His eyes were wide and slightly panicked, and Thomas was surprised he hadn’t fled already.

“Of course.” He stepped aside to let Jimmy in. Door shut, he turned to ask him if he wanted anything to drink, but found himself unable, because his mouth was covered with Jimmy’s. He stood in shock for a moment, not even responding as Jimmy kissed him, almost ferociously. _What the hell?!_ A day or two ago, Jimmy was barely able to brush their lips together without flushing in embarrassment, and now he was trying to shove his hands down the front of Thomas’ trousers. Talk about hot and cold…

“Thomas?” Jimmy had finally noticed that Thomas wasn’t responding to his kisses and pulled back, eyeing him with concern, his hands still gripping Thomas’ hips under his shirt as though he might fall over if he let go. “What is it?”

It took Thomas a moment to find his words, because Jimmy’s finger tips were burning where they met his skin, and his lips reddened from his kisses. “What are you doing?”

Jimmy flinched, his face closing off. “I thought you wanted this. Wanted me.”

“No!” Thomas said quickly, taking hold of Jimmy’s shoulders before he could escape. “No, I do, you know I do. More than anything.” He swallowed, trying to keep his composure. “It’s just that… well, I don’t understand. The other day you thanked me for not rushing you, and now this, and after last time we were together…”

“Don’t – “ Jimmy shook his head.

“No, listen. Last time you kissed me like that, you skipped merrily away to some girl the next day, and I really like you Jimmy, you bloody know I do, but if you do that again I don’t think I could – “

“Thomas, please,” Jimmy cut across him shakily, “I’ve been awful, I know I have, but I just can’t talk about it yet,” his voice was growing more broken and desperate by the second, “I need this, I need you, right now. And I know it’s a lot to ask, but please do this for me. Please.” He raised an unsteady hand to place it on Thomas cheek, resting their foreheads together and pressing a barely there kiss to his lips. “I can’t talk about it yet,” he repeated. 

Any resolve Thomas may have had crumbled at Jimmy’s plea, and the warmth of his fingers on his cheek. It was a terrible idea, and he knew he would live to regret it, but when faced with all he wanted offered to him so readily… he couldn’t say no. He was weak, and well aware the sensible option was to turn Jimmy away and talk to him in the morning, but he was right there, in Thomas’ arms, and begging him to kiss him. 

So he did.

It was messy, brief and wonderful. Perhaps not as physically intense as the night Jimmy had stayed in his bed, but Thomas knew the boy so much better now, and just to have him in his arms was worth all the trouble.   
He managed to drag Jimmy over to the sofa between their messy kisses and fumbling at each other’s clothes, where they collapsed heavily on to the cushions. Moments later, Jimmy was dipping his hand into Thomas’ trousers again, stroking clumsily at him through his boxers. Thomas groaned into the kiss and arched up into Jimmy, feeling the other man rut against his thigh. He ran his hands up Jimmy’s sides, feeling him shudder under his touch. He shoved Thomas’ shirt up to expose his chest, pressing wet and messy kisses across his skin and down to his waistband. Thomas curled his fingers into the hair at the back of Jimmy’s head as he pulled Thomas’ cock out of his underwear. He bit his lip to keep in a shout as Jimmy took his erection into his mouth, not wanting to humiliate himself with his obvious enthusiasm. He needn’t have worried, he came embarrassingly soon anyway, causing Jimmy to cough slightly as he swallowed his release. Thomas was still catching his breath as Jimmy crawled back up his chest to kiss him on the mouth again, a small streak of come down his chin. They were exchanging slow, lazy kisses as Thomas reached down to fumble open Jimmy’s trousers, taking him in hand with long, steady strokes until Jimmy rolled his hips down and came.

They lay on the sofa a while, still not talking, but quite happy; sated and comfortable. Eventually, Jimmy stalked off to have a shower, and by the time he came back, Thomas was almost asleep. Once again, Jimmy thanked him in that slightly ominous way of his, and kissed him long and gentle. He was halfway out of the door when he turned back to Thomas.

“Oh, you will come with me tomorrow, won’t you?”

Thomas, still in his post-orgasm haze, had no idea what he was talking about. “What? Where?”

“To the work thing. You know, the Christmas party.”

“You’re asking me to come with you to the staff Christmas party.” He said flatly, not quite sure he understood. “Together, as in… together?”

Jimmy snorted, “Yes, I mean together. I want to go with you, you great idiot, and not anybody else.”

“Alright then,” said Thomas, not even bothering to hide his grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”


	22. December 22nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last 'early' chapter before I go to London for a couple days, so I won't be posting anything until Monday 23rd now. I hope it doesn't sound as rushed as it was...  
> You're all going to hate me for this. Bye :)

**Sunday December 22nd**

“Who the bloody hell’s idea was it to have the staff party on a bloody Sunday night?” Jimmy had been ranting about the poor planning of the _Downton Clothing Company’s_ Christmas do ever since Thomas had met him off the train twenty minutes ago.

“Give it a rest, would you?” Thomas frowned at a woman with two small children who was eying them with distaste at Jimmy’s colourful dismissal of Mr Carson’s party planning skills.

“And other thing,” Jimmy disregarded him completely, blowing an errant hair out of his eyes as they walked briskly down the last street towards the hotel where the party was being held, “why do we have to wear our work clothes to a _party,_ for God’s sake?”

“It’s not our work stuff,” Thomas sighed, and chucked his cigarette butt to the floor, not willing to go over the dress code _again._ “And you know why.” Mr Carson and Lady Grantham (who always took an interest in company events and parties) had thought it a fine idea to make the annual Christmas party a formal homage to the jazz age; meaning the men must dress in ties and tails, the women in tiaras and flapper gowns, draped with beads.   
When they arrived, Mr Carson was standing guard at the door, back straight and looking every inch the stern butler Thomas was convinced he had been in another life.

“Mr Carson,” Thomas nodded and smirked as they passed him, “enjoying the party I see.”

“Yes, well,” Carson blustered and huffed before stalking off in search of Mrs Hughes and ‘sensible’ conversation. 

“Right,” said Jimmy, as soon as they’d deposited their coats, “let’s get hammered, shall we?”

“Really, Jimmy?”

“Well, what else are we going to do?” Said Jimmy in defence, “dance with the bloody ice sculptures?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow before looking around to confirm that there were indeed ice sculptures. Carson had gone all out... “Fine,” he snagged a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Jimmy. 

They drifted about the room for a while, chatting to various _Downton_ employees and then making snide comments as soon as they sauntered off. When they fancied a change from the champagne, they went to the hotel bar to get something a little stronger. It seemed a few of the other local shops were having festive drinks that evening too; Thomas recognised a round-faced woman from the shoe place a few doors over, the smiling couple from the antique shop, and the girls from the cafe. Daisy, Thomas was almost pleased to see, but the other... let’s just say he’d rather avoid her company. Or more specifically, he wanted Jimmy to avoid her company. He knocked back a whiskey and ordered another, just for luck.

The next couple of hours or so passed rather uneventfully, unless you counted everyone steadily descending in a state of drunkenness. The jazz band hired for the occasion were whacking out song after song, and even Thomas was starting to enjoy himself, despite his misgivings. Mr Carson was still standing to attention at the edge of the dance floor, while Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore (who had seemingly bonded over a firm love for Bailey’s liqueur) were both a little pink-cheeked and attempting to get him to dance. Anna and Mr Bates were sitting in the corner, chatting conspiratorially and sipping champagne, their hands firmly clasped. Alfred and Daisy were somehow managing a surprisingly graceful dance together, and Thomas wasn’t sure if it was the booze or the soppy festive atmosphere, but he thought he might ask Jimmy if he wanted to dance too later on.

The song ended, and Alfred and Daisy came over, laughing and breathless, to where Thomas and Jimmy leaned on the bar. Thomas was resting his hand against the small of Jimmy’s back.

“That were brilliant,” said Daisy through her giggles, leaning heavily into Alfred’s side.

“It was,” Alfred said, with a smile just as dopey as hers. Thomas mentally gagged.

“Having fun?” Ivy joined them, two drinks in hand, and passed one to Daisy, who to be honest probably didn’t need anything more.

The conversation soon turned to everyone’s plans for Christmas, and other trivialities that Thomas didn’t much care to hear about. He excused himself for a moment, to smoke a much needed cigarette and use the bathroom. He didn’t much like smoking alone, in all honesty. If there was one thing he missed Sarah O’Brien for, it for someone to take a cigarette break with.  
On his way back to the party, he passed through an archway sporting an obscenely large ball of mistletoe. He snorted, dismissing it as another pointless Christmas frivolity, before thinking how he would very much like to kiss Jimmy underneath it.

He got back to the bar, just in time to see Jimmy pull that silly girl, Ivy, into an enthusiastic kiss, his hands splayed over her back. He stopped short, staring at the pair of them in horror. They broke apart, and she fell giggling against his chest. Thomas came to his senses and strode over to them, his head spinning from a mix of expensive whiskey, anger and disappointment that he’d somehow managed to fuck it up again.

“Jimmy,” he said, his voice coming out much more smoothly than he’d anticipated, “could I have a word? Outside?”

“Alright,” Jimmy smiled woodenly, and bundled Ivy off to Daisy. 

Thomas turned smartly and, without checking if Jimmy was following, retraced his steps until they were alone in an empty corridor.

“Can I ask,” Thomas hissed, his voice dangerously quiet, “what the bloody hell you think you’re doing?”

“Thomas, I – “ Jimmy looked instantly repentant, but Thomas wasn’t having any of it.

“No, you listen,” his voice broke, but he carried on. “I told you Jimmy. I said to you last night, that if you did this to me again I couldn’t bear it. And you bloody went and did it anyway.”

“Thomas, listen, please – “

“Oh for God’s sake, what is it this time?”

“Alfred saw us being all friendly,” Jimmy spat, his eyes wide, “he saw us and he said I should keep my distance. He said men like you weren’t real men. That if I were a real man, I’d be out with beautiful women, not hanging around the likes of you.”

“He was drunk, Jimmy!” Thomas was nearly shouting, “He’s drunk, and an idiot. What does it matter what he says, with all there is between us? And why the fuck did you listen to him?”

“I – “

“You’re nothing but a vain and silly flirt, Jimmy, and I’m bloody grateful you’re leaving _Downton_ soon, because I don’t think I could bear to look at your face much longer.” Before Jimmy had the chance to notice his eyes were watering, Thomas shoved past him and out into the night, ignoring Jimmy calling his name.


	23. December 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> London was fabulous. Every time I go, I never want to leave. Though the novelty would wear off if I lived there, I think.  
> I would have posted this a little earlier, but we've had absolutely awful weather all day, and we've had no power for the past seven hours.

**Monday December 23rd**

Monday was, quite frankly, awful. The weather was piss poor, and Thomas had woken to find the power was out, meaning he’d had to go about his morning routine mostly in the dark, being unable to locate a decent torch. This hadn’t exactly helped his mood, but it work he was really dreading.   
Thomas was thankful he had a reputation for being a bit of a bastard; it meant no one questioned the odd looks Jimmy had been giving him all day, and the look of indifference he carefully plastered over his own face in response. Perhaps this was a good thing – he’d been going a bit soft with all the affection he felt for Jimmy. It was time to get back to being himself, or a ‘grumpy old bugger’ as he’d heard Alfred mumble when Thomas had demanded he redo an entire window display from scratch. It was partly in revenge for the idiot’s role in Jimmy’s stupidity at the party, and partly to play up to the image they all had of him as a vindictive boss, though he didn’t enjoy it as much as he thought he would.

Jimmy, bless his heart, _(no, I’m meant to be angry with him, remember?)_ had tried to be calm and suave about the whole thing at first, stalking right up to where he, Carson and Hughes were checking the final details of the staff rota for the remainder of the holiday period.

“I wonder if I might have a word with you, Mr Barrow, if you’ve a moment?” The smile that went with this request appeared polite and unconcerned, but Thomas could see the tightness around his eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a moment, James,” he replied, equally politely, “but I’m sure Mr Carson’s opinion on the matter will be just as useful as mine.” It was hard to say whether Jimmy or Carson looked more put out over his words, as Thomas gave them a nod and sauntered off to take care of some imaginary task.

The next time Jimmy tried to talk to him about it he was less composed. He practically ambushed Thomas in a corner of the fitting rooms, grabbing him by the shoulders and covering his face with little kisses. It broke Thomas’ heart a little more to remain stony faced in response to such rare tenderness from Jimmy. 

“James,” he said with his jaw clenched, “Jimmy, would you stop that?” 

“Why?” he whispered between kisses, “you love me, don’t you?”

Yes. I think I do.

“I don’t want to discuss this now, James.”

“Thomas, please,” Jimmy paused in his kissing to look Thomas in the eye with a sadness and hint of desperation that nearly broke his resolve, “I’m sorry. It were a stupid thing to do –“

“I don’t want to hear it –“

“I were drunk, and I were happy – so, so happy to be there with _you_ – and it seemed like one little kiss wouldn’t even matter, because how could it mean anything, when it’s not _you_ I’m kissing? And I should have known better than to listen to Alfred – Alfred! – of all bloody people…” he trailed off, slowly shaking his head. “I’m an idiot.”

Without saying another word (he didn’t trust himself to speak in case his voice cracked) he gently but firmly lifted Jimmy’s hands from his shoulders, and left the room.   
The worst thing was, Jimmy seemed so genuinely upset by his mistake, that Thomas was tempted to forgive him. It felt as though it would be so easy to smile and ruffle his hair, pull him into a hug and carry on as though nothing had happened. But it wouldn’t be that easy. Thomas found it hard to forget when someone had done wrong by him at the best of times, and despite his poker face, he was too hurt and angry to forgive Jimmy for making him feel like what they had was nothing. For making what they’d had nothing more than another failure in his long list of fucked up might-have-been’s.

The third time Jimmy tried to speak to him (not counting the little side-glances and attempts to catch his eye) he had apparently decided the best way to go about it all was to hiss and spit like an angry cat.

“You know what?” he rounded on Thomas as they fixed up the window display that Alfred had made a poor job of earlier. He would have thought it was done on purpose, but deemed it unlikely Alfred had the brains for that.

Thomas sighed, and turned a plastic Christmas tree so it was at a less displeasing angle. “No. What?”

“I don’t care anymore,” he spat, “I don’t care.”

“Right,” Thomas said, unsure of what the correct response would be; Jimmy had changed tac so many times in a few short hours, he wasn’t sure where he stood anymore. 

“I’ve tried to apologize,” he aggressively stripped the jacket off a mannequin, “I’ve tried to be the bigger man, and you’ve done nothing but throw it back at me. So I don’t care anymore. It’s your own bloody fault, and on your head be it.” 

“James – “

“Stop that,” he hissed with a scowl, “ all that ‘James’ nonsense. My name is Jimmy, and you bloody know it.” He stomped off to find a change of clothes for the half undressed mannequin.

Thomas rubbed at his forehead. Honestly, it would have been adorable how silly and uppity Jimmy was being about the whole matter, if it wasn’t Thomas it was directed at. He laughed humourlessly to himself as he finished off the window, and wondered at how love seemed to be so easy for some people, yet for him it always ended in either anger or indifference. He’d honestly thought it might have been different with Jimmy. Well, that’d teach him to hope, wouldn’t it. It served him right for thinking this time things would go his way. Things never did.


	24. December 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work was so busy today bleugh.  
> Another slightly miserable one today I'm afraid, but its also quite short, so its not all bad haa. It starts to pick up again soon, I promise.

**Tuesday December 24th**

Luckily, _Downton,_ as was the case with many other retailers, closed a little early on Christmas eve. Lucky, because Jimmy had apparently decided that Thomas’ approach to dealing with the situation was actually the best method, and was now ignoring him altogether. He was almost as stony faced as Thomas, and that was saying something. The rational side of Thomas knew it was what he’d wanted, and it was probably for the best – let them both get over it and move on as quickly as possible – but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.  
His mood was not improved the pitying looks Mrs Hughes and Anna kept throwing the both of them when they thought they weren’t looking. Jimmy probably hadn’t noticed, as self-involved as he was, but Thomas certainly had. The two women were observant, and he was aware Mrs Hughes at least had guessed at his soft spot for Jimmy weeks ago. They had obviously both witnessed the events of the Christmas party and noticed the cool behaviour of he and Jimmy in the aftermath. Fortunately, they were both too polite to actually get involved, thank God. Though it was sort of nice to know they cared, it didn’t make him feel much better; only irritated him that they thought they understood how he felt.

So it was in this less than festive spirit that Thomas left _Downton_ on Christmas eve, avoiding everyone’s hugs and ‘Happy Christmas’s’ as best he could, mostly annoyed and partly just plain depressed. Jimmy had managed to slip away unnoticed.   
Realising just how fucked over he’d been by his own feelings, like many men before him, Thomas ended up in the pub. Also it was pissing it down outside, and as much as the hideous weather reflected his mood in a dramatic, romantic poet type way, he didn’t think he could handle the bustle of the train or bus without punching someone, and he certainly wasn’t going to walk home in the torrential rain, thank you. But it was mostly to drown his sorrows.

Merry fucking Christmas indeed.


	25. December 25th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just gone midnight here, so HAPPY FUCKING CHRISTMAS :D  
> And here's the Christmas day chapter, hopefully its better than the bollocks that was chapter 24.  
> Fingers crossed the CS doesn't suck, and I'll see you on the other side.

**Wednesday December 25th**

By the time Thomas woke, clammy and hung over, it was early afternoon. He was incredibly thankful to have slept through a good deal of the wretched day, to be honest. He felt physically bad enough that he didn’t have too much room left over to worry about the emotional train wreck that was his relationship – or lack of – with Jimmy Kent. He didn’t bother with a shower, instead stumbling into the kitchen to make coffee, turning the heating up full whack on the way. Fuck, it was cold.   
It wasn’t until about an hour later, when he was three coffees and two cigarettes in and watching some ridiculous kid’s film about frogs, did he remember that it was in fact Christmas day. He quickly smothered any sadness that brought with the knowledge that he was officially allowed to eat his way through the stockpile of cakes, biscuits and chocolates he had in his cupboard. With an unexpected wrench, he recalled the strange contents of Jimmy’s kitchen cupboards – cheesy musicals and programmes from the west end. An image that was sent firmly on its way as Thomas tore open a packet of M&S chocolate brownies and settled on the sofa for a day of eating his feelings and shouting at the telly. 

It was dark outside, and the floor around his sofa littered with empty food packaging, when he heard his phone buzz, rousing him from the state of near-sleep he’d fallen into. Grumbling to himself, Thomas dug around between the sofa cushions until he located his phone. It was a text.   
From Jimmy.   
Even the letters of his name on the screen jolted Thomas uncomfortably out of his bubble of denial, and though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he opened the message. 

_Happy Christmas X_

That was all it said, and yet it was enough to ensure that Thomas couldn’t settle for the next hour. Then he realised he was being a total drama queen over such an insignificant text, and decided that he had to say something in reply, or he’d go insane. It was Christmas… And he fucking missed him, there was no point in denying it. It wouldn’t hurt too much just to text him back, would it? Even if they could just be friends, it had to be better than this. So he sent a reply.

_Happy Christmas X_

It was hardly Shakespeare, but it was a start.

A little while later, he was watching some inane period drama and getting increasingly frustrated by the obvious sexual tension between the under butler and the footman, when his phone buzzed again.

“He bloody loves you, why can’t you see it?” he mumbled angrily to the men on the screen, snatching up his phone from the coffee table. It was another text from Jimmy.

_How’s your day been?_

Thomas snorted in disbelief, shaking his head at the stupidity of the question, fondness soothing his annoyance with him ever so slightly.

_Bloody awful. Yours?_

He set his phone down again, determined not to crack and send Jimmy another message. He ambled off to locate more biscuits, and maybe something stronger to drink now his hangover had eased. When he returned, his phone was flashing with another text. Sighing at how quickly he was about to break his own promise, he read Jimmy’s text.

_Even more miserable than usual, actually._

Though Thomas couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of sadness on his behalf, it was hard to be terribly sympathetic when it was Jimmy’s own actions that had caused this mess in the first place. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore him completely, but he didn’t want to get in over his head either… so in the end he kept it short.

_I’m sorry to hear it._

He didn’t hear from Jimmy for a long while after that. It was nearly midnight, and he was once again dozing, with Love Actually on in the background, of all things, before his phone buzzed again. Rubbing at his eyes and stretching his neck from the awkward position he’d been lying in, he reached out blindly to grab the thing, to find another message from Jimmy.

_Since we’re both miserable, would you like to be miserable together? X_

Thomas blinked at his phone for a moment, becoming gradually more aware that this may in fact be one of those key moments in life, where a simple yes/no answer can alter everything. If he said no, they would both most likely sulk for another month or so, before maybe finding someone else if they were lucky, and moving on. But if he said yes, he could maybe have Jimmy again. The wonderful, irritating, ridiculous man who’d made him smile more in the last few weeks than he had done all the rest of the year combined. And probably have his heart broken another dozen times in the process.   
But it was bloody Christmas, and he was well aware he was being sentimental and foolish, but if the unresolved romance between the two men in that overrated period drama had taught him anything, it was that life was short, and if you had the chance for love, bloody well take it. So, knowing it was probably the stupidest thing he would ever do, he typed a reply.

_Alright. But we’ve got a few things to talk about._

He couldn’t just take him back as easily as that. The little bugger had some explaining to do. But because he was feeling particularly stupid and sentimental, he sent another text afterwards.

_X_

He found he couldn’t really concentrate on much, after that.   
Just before midnight, he was shaken out of his anxious brooding by the sound of a car driving away outside, and a knock on his door.


	26. December 26th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. The CS could have been worse. But it also could have been better. But its OK, there's enough good fic from everybody to keep me happy.  
> So, enjoy this ridiculous smushy fluff. And here's hoping autocorrect didn't fuck me over too much. It likes to change fuck to duck.

**Thursday December 26th**

Thomas opened the front door – with an inescapable feeling of deja-vu – to see Jimmy on his doorstep, phone clutched in his hand and face damp with rain.

“Hello,” Jimmy spoke just as Thomas’ father’s old clock struck midnight in the hallway. “I would say Happy Christmas, but…” he gestured lamely to the clock, now showing that it was officially Boxing Day. 

After just staring for a moment, Thomas found his voice and his manners. “Come in.”

Jimmy did so, looking like a naughty child awaiting his punishment, and Thomas shut the door slowly behind him. “Can I –“ Jimmy bit his lip in indecision, “oh, fuck it.” He pulled Thomas into a crushing hug, burying his face in his neck, and through his surprise, Thomas was vaguely aware that he hadn’t had a shower since his unplanned Christmas Eve drinking binge. Damn.  
Jimmy mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I missed you’ into Thomas’ collarbone, though Thomas wasn’t sure he was meant to have heard it. Instead of replying, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around Jimmy in return, and placed a careful kiss on the top of his head. 

Jimmy pulled away slightly, a frown on his perfect face. “Does this mean you can forgive me?” he said quietly, “for being an insecure twat?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.” Thomas said truthfully as he detangled himself from Jimmy’s arms and stalked back to the living room. “But we’ve got a hell of a lot of talking to do first, Jimmy Kent.” Jimmy grimaced and followed him. “Want a drink?”

“I think I’ll need one.”

Thomas didn’t bother asking what he wanted, pouring them both a generous whiskey. He would have preferred wine, but it somehow didn’t seem as suited to late night conversations about one’s feelings as hard liquor. 

“So,” he took a seat next to Jimmy on the sofa and set his glass down on the coffee table, taking a sip of his own, “I think you’d best start from the beginning, hmm?”

“Right,” Jimmy said, wrapping his fingers around the drink as though it proffered warmth, “right.”

“No rush,” Thomas said evenly, gently squeezing Jimmy’s knee once in encouragement.

Jimmy nodded, wincing as he took a sip of whiskey. “The beginning. Right. I suppose it won’t surprise you to know that me being… gay, was a fairly recent discovery. I’m sort of still dealing with it. But I knew I wanted you from the first time I saw you; I weren’t lying when I told you that. And I get what I want.” Thomas couldn’t help but smile at that – they were so similar, in some ways. “And after we – you know – I was even more sure of it. I wanted you, Thomas, and for more than just a night.” He swallowed, took another drink. “But I’d heard things about you from the others at work. Nothing bad as such, just that you’d built up quite a few notches on your bedpost over the years. And you were so wonderful… it were a little intimidating. So I assumed, idiot that I am, that you’d throw me over as soon as the sun were up, and we’d go our separate ways,” he laughed humourlessly, “I thought my pride would take a hit, you see, and so I told you I only wanted a one night thing, before you could get in there first and I’d look an idiot.” He grimaced, and gave Thomas a sheepish smile. “Stupid, I know.”

“Hang on,” Thomas said, as a potential worry surfaced in the forefront of his mind, “how recent a discovery are we talking here? I mean, I’m not the first bloke you –“ 

“No, no. Don’t worry,” Jimmy said, with a rueful chuckle, “though I wish you had been.”

Thomas tried to keep the warm feeling Jimmy’s confession had sent coursing through him under wraps; it would hardly solve their problems after all. “Alright,” he said, “that explains why you were such an idiot the first time around,” though it doesn’t entirely excuse it, he added mentally, “but… well, you’re going to need a pretty good explanation as to what the bloody hell all this Ivy business is all about. I mean do you… do you actually fancy her at all?”

“God no,” Jimmy said with a firm shake of his head. “I told you, I’m definitely gay. Though I am a terrible flirt,” he added with a grimace, “I flirt with anyone who gives me a second glance; my mother always used to say I liked to have my cake and eat it, and she weren’t wrong.”

“I know, I’ve seen you in action,” said Thomas with an eye roll. 

“Yes well,” Jimmy cleared his throat and started to fidget in his seat. “As for the other evening… well, it were bloody stupid of me and there’s no way around it. I were drunk. I – “ he looked sheepish, “I don’t handle drink well at the best of times, I’m afraid. Like I said, I’m still a bit conflicted, you know, with the whole liking men thing, and I don’t always know what I want… so when Alfred, the dozy bastard, started mouthing off about you and me… I freaked out a little bit. I worry too much what others think of me. Yet another bad trait, I’m afraid. And that’s pretty much it; all in all, a pretty poor explanation, I know, but... I’m sorry for it, I am. I really do like you, Thomas, and I think given a bit more time, I could really, really like you. That is, if you could give me another chance.”

There was a long silence while Thomas thought through all of what Jimmy had said, before realising that he really didn’t care if it ended badly between them somewhere down the line. All that mattered was that Jimmy wanted him _now._ And he was certain Jimmy was what he wanted too. “I think,” he began, voice coming out softer than he’d intended, “I think I’d like that.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do, you daft bugger.” Jimmy grinned at him then, and practically leapt at Thomas to pull him into a bear hug, pressing a single, wet, kiss to his cheek. “But don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” said Thomas when Jimmy had loosened his hold a little, “you owe me, pretty boy.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” said Jimmy with a smirk.

Thomas suggested they go to bed after that, it being close on one in the morning. But it ended up being a much more civilised affair than he had intended; they’d both fallen asleep the moment they climbed under the covers, wrapped around each other in a way Thomas would have found sickeningly over-romantic if it had been anyone else.

*

They woke late; it was nearly noon by the time they transferred their sleep-rumpled bodies from the bed to the sofa, determined to wring some kind of enjoyment out of the holiday. It turned out that Jimmy was even worse for shouting abuse at the TV than Thomas was, which shouldn’t have been an endearing trait, but Thomas was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he’d find every little thing endearing when it came to Jimmy. They spent the day lying half on top of each other on the sofa, eating their way steadily through Thomas’ selection of overindulgent sweets, Thomas occasionally holding a bite up to Jimmy’s lips, lingering as he ate from his fingers. They drank mulled wine warmed in the microwave because they couldn’t be bothered to do it with a pan, out of mugs because they were easier to hold and not spill while draped over the sofa. Jimmy tasted like wine when they kissed, and Thomas didn’t think he’d want to kiss anyone else ever again. 

It was dark, though Thomas had no idea what the actual time was, and he knew he should have sent Jimmy on his way so they could both get some much needed sleep before work in the morning. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words and let him leave, even though all logic dictated he would see him in the morning. And there was something else bothering him, and he knew if he didn’t say it now, it would end up causing problems later.

“You know I wanted more than a one night thing from the start, right?” His voice was too loud after the hour or so they’d spent in comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” Jimmy sounded half asleep. “What do you mean?”

“After you stayed the night that first time. You said earlier that you broke it off to save your pride taking a hit, because you thought that was all I wanted from you. Obviously you were wrong…” Jimmy snorted with laughter and elbowed him in the ribs. “But I think you should know why I didn’t fight harder to get you to stay.”

“Oh?” Jimmy’s tone was casual, but there was a tightness in it suggesting he wasn’t as unconcerned as he was trying to make out. “You don’t have a mad wife locked up in your attic do you? Or an illegitimate child born of some poorly thought out experimentation in your teenage years?”

“Nothing as _Eastenders_ as all that, no,” Thomas gave him a wry smile. “It was partly because I thought that was what you wanted – my pride’s just as delicate as yours, make no mistake. I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself barking up the wrong tree when you clearly wanted to move on.”

“Thomas – “

“That’s not all.” He stared ahead of him, purposely avoiding Jimmy’s eye. “A lot of my relationships – if they could even really be called that – have been very brief. More for convenient sex than anything else. I don’t really do deep feelings, me. I don’t really know how to function in an actual relationship, the thought alone terrifies me. All I’ve ever been good for before is fuck buddies, I barely dared hope that you of all people would want to stick around. But also… you were the first man ever that I wanted more than just sex with, and I won’t lie to you, that scared me. It were easier on all accounts to just let you go. So… that’s that.” He finished lamely. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to gone on quite so much.” It wasn’t like him to spill his guts so readily. But then, Jimmy seemed to have that effect on him.

Jimmy stretched up from where he lay to press a kiss to Thomas’ jaw; it was as far as he could reach. “You big old softie, Thomas Barrow,” he said, and Thomas could hear the smile in his voice. “But thank you for telling me all the same. I’m sorry I fucked things up so royally.” Thomas didn’t say anything, just held Jimmy closer and rested his chin on the top of his head. “I’ve had enough couples therapy for tonight. Kiss me again, please.”


	27. December 27th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I had a dream involving Thomas and handjobs and it was a thing of beauty.  
> I have so many fic ideas right now, I would very much like to just sit at home all day and write the buggers.

**Friday December 27th**

“Very good sir,” Thomas said, his ‘work face’ firmly in place as he took down the final details for a man’s suit order. He’d been rude and irritating through the entire fitting, and looked at Thomas as though he were a piece of furniture. Fortunately his part was done, and he could send the ungrateful bugger off to Alfred to pick out cufflinks and pocket squares and other such details he didn’t give a fuck about. He gave Thomas a frostily polite nod in response and stalked out back to the main shop, leaving Thomas alone in a fitting room cubicle, thinking on how very much he would like to be the one giving the orders.

He was just about to leave when Jimmy marched around the corner, shoving Thomas smartly in the chest so he stumbled backwards into the cubicle, and pulled the curtain shut behind them.

“Jimmy, what the bloody hell –“ Thomas hissed, but Jimmy silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips, a gesture so intimate and unexpected that Thomas couldn’t say anything else. 

“Shh,” Jimmy whispered and replaced his finger with his lips, quietening Thomas with soft, teasing kisses. So wonderful was it, that Thomas completely lost himself until Jimmy backed him up against the cubicle mirror, and the back of his head bumped the surface. He winced at the contact, before regretfully pulling back from Jimmy.

“Jimmy. Stop it.” It came out as more of a croak than the threat he planned.

“Mmhmm,” Jimmy largely ignored him and bit lightly at his bottom lip.

“Jimmy,” his head was telling him to untangle himself from the other man’s arms and get back to work before somebody missed them, but his body wasn’t listening. Much like Jimmy. “Jimmy, we’re at work.”

“I know,” said Jimmy, sliding down to kiss languidly at Thomas’ neck and began to pick at his shirt buttons, “exciting isn’t it?”

“No,” said Thomas defiantly, though his cock was telling him otherwise, “it’s stupid.”

“Alright then,” Jimmy purred, fingering the button of Thomas’ suit trousers, “do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“As you say, Mr Barrow,” Jimmy smirked and popped open the button, slipping his hand down the front of Thomas’ trousers.

Thomas bit his lip to keep in a moan as Jimmy stroked at him through his underwear; the last thing he wanted was Mr Carson or Alfred blundering in and… he stopped that train of thought before it could kill off his hard-on. But as much as he was enjoying himself, there was something niggling at him. “Jimmy,” he panted, “you don’t have to do this you know. If you’re trying to prove a point or something…” he lost his concentration as Jimmy thumbed at the head of his cock.

“I know,” Jimmy said simply, pressing a quick kiss to Thomas’ chin. “And I’m not trying to prove a point. I just… I want to be close to you. And I think it’s about time I let myself.” The slight frown that had settled across his brow as he uttered this confession switched to something noticeably more smug. “And I don’t want to wait any longer.” He slid his hand into Thomas’ underwear, gripping his cock firmly as though jerking his boss off in a changing room was something he did on a regular basis. “You go all pink when you’re turned on. It’s lovely.”

Thomas tried to scowl, but wasn’t entirely successful. “Oi, respect your superiors.” 

“Yes sir.”


	28. December 28th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quite short one today.  
> I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow, the only notes I have written for the 29th are 'they have sex.' So anything could go down.

**Saturday December 28th**

“Going out again, are we Thomas?”

Thomas stopped in his tracks, cigarette in hand as he made his way to the back door of the shop for a quick smoke. “What’s it to you?” he turned to see Mr Bates, regarding him with an annoyingly pleasant look on his face.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “only that you seem to be taking an awful lot of breaks lately.”

“That’s none of your concern,” said Thomas, his lip curling into a sneer, “and you’re forgetting your place, Mr Bates. I outrank you, you know.” It had been a busy morning and he needed a bloody cigarette; Bates had no right to mouth off at him for it.

“On paper maybe. But I think we both know it’s only a technicality.”

Thomas was about to abandon all attempts at subtlety and tell him to fuck off out of other people’s business, when Jimmy came over, arms full of empty shoe boxes and looking wary. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, James,” Bates said evenly, his eyes still on Thomas, “just reminding Mr Barrow that he can’t just drop his duties whenever he fancies a cigarette.”

“Actually, I think Mr Barrow works bloody hard,” Jimmy said smoothly, tilting his chin up in challenge. “Any break he takes would be well deserved.”

Mr Bates blinked at Jimmy in surprise. “Right,” he said, looking bemused, “if you say so, James.” He strode off back to the till, and Thomas looked to Jimmy in disbelief. 

“Umm, thank you. For sticking up for me and that.” It meant more than he could say, that Jimmy would step up so quickly to his defence, even over a matter so trivial.

“It were nothing,” replied Jimmy, basking in his praise like a goddamn puppy.

*

Later on, they were drinking coffee and sharing a piece of cake (something Thomas _never_ thought he would do) in the café, when Jimmy brought up something that Thomas really should have considered before this point in time.

“Is there some sort of policy about workplace relationships at _Downton?”_

Thomas frowned and sucked some cream off the tip of his thumb. Jimmy watched him. “I think they’re frowned upon, but nothing more than that. On paper at least.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning Mr Carson would have a fit if all his staff starting pairing off to shag in the fitting rooms.” He raised an eyebrow pointedly and finished off the cake.

“What about Anna and Mr Bates?” jimmy ploughed on, unfazed. 

“They’re married, for a start. And they’re of the opposite gender, which I think helps Carson sleep at night.”

Jimmy shrugged and knocked back the dregs of his coffee. “Well, it doesn’t much matter. This job’s only for the holidays; for me anyway. In a couple of weeks’ time, I can go back to being unemployed, and you can bang me guilt free.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes and tried to hide his grin. It was a very promising concept indeed.


	29. December 29th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of glad I'm nearly done now, Its starting to lose focus and go a bit ooc. Or at least it feels that way to me, I don't know. Also I totally only just posted this in time, I have about half an hour until its the 30th haaa.  
> Anyway, have some weird, fluffy, slightly smutty ice cream based fun :)

**Sunday December 29th**

It was Sunday, and some old fashioned part of Thomas that he usually kept well hidden loathed working on Sundays purely on principle. Throw in the fact that _Downton_ was overrun with a constant stream of people wanting to exchange Christmas gifts that weren’t quite to their taste, and Thomas was in a pretty poor mood by lunchtime. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it, more that he just didn’t much care to listen to why someone didn’t think a particular purple shirt didn’t quite compliment their complexion.  
Going from the occasional disgruntled glance he shared with Jimmy, he wasn’t too pleased with how the day was going either. There was however, one amusing moment when an elderly lady none too subtly pinched Jimmy’s bum behind the counter. Thomas barely managed to conceal his laughter behind an exaggerated cough as Jimmy flushed.

“Alright there, Jimmy?” Thomas asked, still grinning.

“Just fine thanks.”

“Made a new lady friend?” he nodded in the direction of the woman as she left the shop.

Jimmy snorted. “That were nothing. You should have seen old Mrs Anstruther when she got going.”

“Who?”

“Landlady of the pub I used to work in. Right old minx, she were.”

“Alright,” Thomas raised an eyebrow sceptically, “I’d hate to cut your reminiscing short, but I should get back to work.”

“Wait,” Jimmy grabbed his arm tight, wrinkling his jacket sleeve, “I were just wondering, since we won’t get to see much of each other today, being so busy and all, if you… if you’d want to come over later. After work.”

Thomas felt his face relax into a smile, and suddenly the mounting pile of refunded Christmas gifts didn’t seem so bad. “I’d like that.”

*

When they got back to Jimmy’s flat, it was obvious Jimmy hadn’t really thought this through. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, casting a regretful eye over his living room – dirty cups dotted about and clothes draped haphazardly over the furniture.

“Sorry,” he said as he started to gather up items of clothing and flinging them elsewhere out of the way, “it’s a bit… you know.”

“Quite alright,” Thomas said, trying to hide his amusement as Jimmy pulled a jumper and an empty Pot Noodle cup from under the sofa. He tentatively glanced towards the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you’ve given much thought to food either have you?”

“Erm, not so much, no.”

Thomas didn’t even bother hiding his eye roll. “C’mon. Let’s see what you’ve got.” In all honesty, Thomas was scandalised Jimmy had so little food in the house at bloody _Christmas_ of all times… though he forgot some people didn’t use the holidays as an excuse to indulge in fancy food, like he did.  
In the end, they managed to knock up some toast, eggs, and bacon; which admittedly was more of a breakfast than an evening meal, but it didn’t seem to matter all that much, with Jimmy grinning at him across the table.  
Food eaten, Thomas was going to offer to wash up, but he wasn’t feeling _that_ generous. Jimmy seemed to be thinking along the same lines, grabbing the plates and dumping them unceremoniously in the sink.

“Go sit,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the sofa, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“As you wish, sir,” Thomas drawled, but made his way to the living room anyway. Jimmy was up to something… but Thomas had spent rather a lot of time humouring him, and he was hardly going to stop now.

A minute later, Jimmy joined Thomas on the sofa, clutching half a tub of strawberry ice cream. “I dug it out of the freezer,” he said by way of explanation, “I – I thought you might like something sweet.”

“You really are a wonder, Jimmy Kent,” said Thomas as Jimmy handed him a spoon.

They ate the ice cream in silence for a while, both sort of watching TV but more watching each other, spoons knocking in the ice cream tub in a scene that was so disgustingly sweet, Thomas may have vomited if he could have seen himself.  
He didn’t have long to dwell on it though, as Jimmy quietly slipped his hand under Thomas shirt, fingertips cold from holding the ice cream, making him suck in a breath in surprise.

“Ahh, you little bugger,” he said as Jimmy crawled into his lap, sliding his other chilly hand up Thomas’ back in barely there touches; soft and cold, and Thomas wasn’t sure which of these it was that made him shudder. He put his hand on the back of Jimmy’s neck, watching him hiss at the coldness of Thomas’ own hands, to pull him down for a kiss. Both their lips were chilled and a little numb, sweet from the dessert.  
Thomas’ fingers curled deeper into Jimmy’s hair, making him moan and roll his hips down against Thomas. His fingers had stopped their teasing across his skin, and were now focusing on undoing the buttons of his shirt. As soon as Jimmy had slid open the last button, he pushed the fabric of Thomas’ shirt aside to kiss down his chest, his mouth still slightly cool from the ice cream.  
Thomas was about ready to burst with frustration from the soft then hard touches, the contrast of cold lips and warm tongue on his body, when Jimmy abruptly sat up with a groan.

“Be right back,” he said, and climbed off Thomas’ lap before he could protest. He returned moments later with lube and a condom. Oh fuck…

“This looks all very serious,” Thomas said smoothly, stamping down his growing sense of anticipation as Jimmy shrugged off his own shirt and tie, dropping them to the floor. The sensible part of Thomas wanted to fold them neatly, but that part was silenced pretty effectively by the part that wanted to get his dick in Jimmy as quickly as possible. And Jimmy knew it, if the smug look on his face as anything to go by, as he watched Thomas watching him. Thomas had longed for this again ever since the first night he’d had Jimmy in his bed.

“I find myself getting very serious when it comes to you, Mr Barrow,” he said as he slid his trousers off and crawled back into Thomas’ lap.

Things got hazy after that – all tongues and fingers and tensed muscles and quick breaths. Thomas wondered if all his sexual doings with Jimmy were fated to be so; rushed yet slow and blurred yet clear. He lost himself, feeling only half-present, as one is in a dream, head swimming and body thrumming and all he could see was Jimmy’s face.  
As wonderful and romantic as all that was, Thomas very much hoped time would bring more clarity. He would like to be able to recall in detail the feeling of Jimmy’s hips under his hands, the tension in his jaw as he approached orgasm, his quick puffs of breath on Thomas’ skin. But they were all things he could look forward to.

“Ahh, fuck, Jimmy,” Thomas hissed as Jimmy dug his nails into his shoulders.

“Ugh, sorry,” Jimmy muttered as he rocked his hips down, pushing Thomas deeper, and making both their breaths hitch in unexpected pleasure. 

*

“I think,” said Jimmy sometime later, when their sweat had cooled and ice cream had warmed, leaving an altogether quite nasty residue, “that we may need a shower. And that I may have to start buying more ice cream.”


	30. December 30th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. Let's just pretend I'm not like an hour late posting this and it's technically the 31st shh.  
> I love Philip, he's so much fun. Bring him back in S5, I say. Then Jimmy can be like 'who the hell is that?' and Thomas can be like 'oh fuck this is awkward,' and Jimmy can get all jealous a la Gigi's 'Catalyst' and it would be fantastic.

**Monday December 30th**

Monday was a much quieter day at _Downton,_ possibly because the weather was so appalling. The wind and rain had kept up all night and well into the morning; the journey into work had not been a pleasant experience. Though Thomas had spent a considerable amount of time smoothing himself down once he’d arrived, he still felt wind-ruffled and damp around the edges.  
So when Philip and his servant-boy/boy-toy waltzed in, he wasn’t sure if he should regard it as a pleasure or a chore. 

“Thomas,” he said as he breezed up to the till, sour-faced Charlie in tow, “good morning. Just thought we’d pop in to wish you a happy new year and all that, before we go. We’re off on holiday you see, white beaches and warm oceans to distract us from the dreary grey January of England.”

“…How nice,” said Thomas dryly, wishing very much a customer would come along and give him an excuse to cut the visit short.

“Yes, well,” said Philip with a falsely modest wave of his hand, “I’m afraid it’s not just that. I wanted to order some new shirts – my last one from _Downton’s_ just about had it.”

“Right,’ said Thomas flatly, reaching for the order book. 

“I assume you still know my measurements?”

“We keep them on file, if that’s what you mean.”

It was at this point that Jimmy emerged from the fitting rooms, work-face already pasted on, though it warmed a little when he saw Thomas. “Anything I can help you with, Mr Barrow?”

“Hello, who’s this?” said Philip before Thomas could say anything.

“Jimmy,” he introduced himself warily, “Jimmy Kent.” Thomas fought the urge to jump between them and shield Jimmy from the lecherous look Philip was giving him. Wanker.

“Charmed,” Philip answered with a smile, before suddenly seeming to remember something. “Oh! Thomas, is this _him?”_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Thomas through clenched teeth. He knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Don’t pretend to be dense, Thomas dear, it doesn’t suit you,” said Philip airily. “Surely this must be your fancy man; the one who you were so hung up on it was making you all moody and miserable? And, quite frankly, boring.” He gave Jimmy another appraising look. “He’s adorable.”

“Excuse me?” Jimmy’s professionalism all but vanished as he scowled at Philip.

“Philip – “ Thomas tried to cut him off; the last thing he needed was his arse of an ex-lover fucking up the beginnings of something much more emotionally fulfilling. But he should have known Philip wouldn’t be deterred from his sport so easily. He leaned conspiratorially closer to Jimmy over the counter.

“You know, you could do so much better than Thomas, darling. Fancy a month in the Bahamas?” He gave Jimmy the most over exaggerated wink Thomas had ever seen.

Thomas barely managed to stop himself laughing. Really, it was almost worth Philip’s theatrics just to have witnessed the scandalised look Jimmy was giving him now. He looked almost as unimpressed as Charlie, now glaring at Jimmy over Philip’s shoulder. The two of them might get on well, Thomas thought, they could both put on the most tremendous pout when they wanted to.

“That’s quite enough out of you,” he cut in before Jimmy or Charlie could take serious offence, “piss off on holiday, you silly bugger.” He pulled Philip briefly into an awkward sort of one armed hug, at which Philip laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “And you better send me a bloody post card, or else.”

“Quite right, we don’t want to miss our plane.” He held out his arm for Charlie to take, “Come along, Charlie. Adventure awaits.” With one last smile, they sauntered off, leaving a stony-faced Jimmy staring after them.

“Who in the bloody hell were that?”

“Philip. Old friend of mine.”

Jimmy sniffed. “I don’t like him.”

“I didn’t think you would.” Feeling suddenly and uncharacteristically light-hearted, Thomas ruffled Jimmy’s hair just to watch him squirm. “Come on, Mr Kent. We’ve got work to do.”


	31. December 31st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished, oh my goodness. It's quite short, but hopefully sweet...  
> Thanks for reading you guys, I hope you enjoyed it :)  
> Happy new year! Have a good one. My friends have convinced me to go out dressed as playing cards later... I'll probably drink too much and start waxing lyrical about why Thomas and Jimmy should be together. I'm a very chatty drinker, unfortunately.

**Tuesday December 31st**

“Do you fancy going somewhere for new year?” Jimmy said some time during the monotony of stocktaking. 

Thomas lost count of the boxes of cufflinks he was checking. “What?”

“You know, to a bar, or club or whatever. I don’t care where we go, I just don’t want to be sitting at home on new year’s eve like some sad case.” 

“You mean like I do every year?”

“Hmm?” Jimmy was sitting on the floor surrounded by shoe boxes, and not really listening.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Alright, we can go out, if that’s what you want. But… well, are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jimmy spoke slowly, as though the question Thomas had asked were stupid, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Do you not remember the last time you asked me to go somewhere with you?”

“Oh,” Jimmy had the grace to look slightly sheepish, “that.” But then he shrugged and smiled and jumped up to kiss Thomas on the cheek, “Don’t go worrying about that. It’s just you and me now, whether you like it or no.”

*

“Oh fantastic,” Thomas muttered as they walked in the door of the bar Jimmy had chosen.

“What’s the matter?” Jimmy squeezed his hand, “I thought you said you liked this – oh.” Jimmy dropped Thomas’ hand when he noticed who else was sitting at the bar. Alfred and Daisy were chatting and laughing, Ivy sitting next to them with a slightly strained smile. No date for new year, Ivy? Thomas thought vindictively. 

“We could go somewhere else, if you want,” said Thomas, itching to take hold of Jimmy’s hand again.

“No, it’s alright,” said Jimmy with a smile nearly as strained as Ivy’s. “Let’s go say hello.”

“Jimmy – “ Thomas hissed, but he’d already marched off to where the others sat, determined to make everyone uncomfortable, it seemed. Thomas resigned himself to an evening of supreme social awkwardness, and followed him. 

“Thomas,” Daisy at least looked genuinely pleased to see him, and shoved Alfred over a little to make room for him at the bar. “Happy new year.”

“You too Daisy,” he said as he slotted in next to Jimmy, the latter tensing when their arms brushed. Bloody brilliant. Flighty, in-the-closet Jimmy was back. 

The next hour or so was spent making slightly awkward small talk, Daisy mainly carrying the conversation, bless her. And her enthusiasm was making even Alfred’s glum face lighten up a little. But that didn’t make the fact that Jimmy flinched every time they accidentally touched any less irritating.

“I’ll get the next round in, shall I?” Thomas said. “Jimmy, give me a hand would you?” He moved along the bar, out of earshot of the others.

“What’s the matter?”

Thomas looked at him incredulously. “You’re asking me what’s the matter? Jimmy, you look as though it physically hurts to sit next to me. Look, if this is making you uncomfortable, we can go.” He looked away. “Or I could go. If you want.”

“No,” Jimmy grabbed his arm, “no, I don’t want that. Let’s just get the drinks and sit back down. Please?”

Thomas nodded and tried to smile, before ordering their drinks.

*

New year was fast approaching, and Jimmy hadn’t eased up at all. If anything, he’d got worse. But the others had got more friendly at least, though that may have had something to do with the number of empty glasses now covering the table they’d moved to. 

“One minute ‘til midnight,” Alfred announced cheerfully, knocking back the rest of his pint.

“Thank you, Alfred,” said Thomas. 

Next to him, Jimmy was looking worse than ever; hot and uncomfortable, his jaw tight and hands gripping the table in front of him. Thomas made up his mind – as soon as all the ‘happy new year’ nonsense was over, he was taking him home.  
He could hear people counting down from ten, fuelled by alcohol and the promise of a new year better than the last. That hope was a sentiment he could appreciate.

“Five… Four…”

“Thomas,” Jimmy turned to him and swallowed, and Thomas’ eyes followed the line of his throat, “Thomas, I –“

“Happy New Year!”

The bar rang with shouts that Thomas barely heard, because Jimmy had slid his shaking hands up to cup Thomas’ face, pulling him down into a kiss. It was brief, but firm and careful, with enough intent behind it that Thomas instantly disregarded Jimmy’s coldness earlier on. Jimmy had made his decision.  
They slowly broke apart, and Thomas knew he was grinning like an idiot but couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Umm, happy new year, you two,” Daisy broke the silence.

“Happy new year Daisy,” Jimmy found his voice first as they looked up to the three surprised faces across the table. Well, Daisy looked surprised. Ivy had left surprised far behind, now bordering on shock. Alfred just looked vaguely ill. 

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” Thomas stood and offered his hand to Jimmy. He took it without a moment’s hesitation, and Thomas smiled even wider, if that were possible, “I’ve got to get Jimmy home.”


End file.
